


May the Lord Open

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Mentions of Rape, References to The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood, Smut, lady whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-04-08 04:33:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19099813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: A CS AU inspired by The Handmaid's Tale: Emma Swan, renamed Ofarthur when she was assigned to the Pendragon household as their Handmaid four months prior, is approached by her mistress, Mrs. Pendragon to take part in a scheme the woman hopes will produce her the child her husband cannot. During her encounter with family's loyal Guardian, Emma gets more than she bargained for... in more ways than one.





	1. Chapter 1

 

* * *

 

The mistress’s words rang in Emma’s ear. She blinked several times in stupefaction, trying to come to grips with what the woman was saying.

_Four months._

Emma, renamed Ofarthur at the beginning of her assignment, had been a Handmaid in the Pendragon household for four months, but had yet to endure the Ceremony. Not that she was complaining. Now she knew why the _blessed event_ had not occurred. The Commander was impotent.

Impotent. Sterile. Forbidden words here in Camelot. The fertility crisis had always been placed at the women’s feet; a sin no man could possibly be held accountable for.

And this man wouldn’t be either.

It would be Emma’s fault if she didn’t conceive. The Handmaid was always to blame in these situations. Panic over being sent to the Colonies, or worse, once it was discovered she was perhaps not as useful to the _divine cause_ as the powers that be had hoped, surged into her chest.

“You understand the risk we are taking in telling you this, don’t you?” the mistress hissed in a low whisper.

“Of course, ma’am.”

“No one can ever know, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

“Good.” The mistress let out a relieved breath and stretched a serene smile over her lips. “Then I know you’ll do whatever is necessary to keep up appearances, for all our sakes.”

Emma couldn’t help the pinched expression that beset her brow at the mistress’s words. “Ma’am?”

“I’ve procured an alternative solution,” the woman continued. “Tonight, we will hold the Ceremony. You will wait in my room with the Commander and I for an appropriate amount of time for the servants to believe we’ve all done our duty, then you will return to your room. He will come to you later tonight.”

“Who will?” Emma asked hollowly.

“He’s already agreed. He’s been with us for a long time. Has always been loyal. We can trust him.”

“Who?” Emma questioned again, her heart beginning to race as it had already surmised the man’s identity.

“Killian,” the woman answered. “Killian will come to you tonight. You will lie with him, and by His hand the two of you will provide me with a miracle.”

~/~

“This wasn’t my idea,” Killian asserted after pulling Emma behind his garage apartment, away from prying eyes before she left for her daily shopping trip. “When the mistress asked, I had no choice but to say yes. You know that, right? I would never-”

“I know,” she assured him, unable to meet the intensity of his gaze for fear her own would betray her carefully cultivated capitulation to this world and its ideals.

“We don’t have to actually go through with it.”

Her eyes darted up to his, startled. “What?”

“We can do exactly as they plan to,” he continued in a hushed tone, his eyes now scanning their surroundings. “I’ll come up to your room and we’ll just… wait it out together.”

His gaze fell back onto her with a vulnerability she’d never seen in the usually staid and staunch driver, who Emma knew was also an Eye - a spy sent to keep tabs on Camelot’s prominent families and their households.

A war erupted in Emma’s mind. The two sides of herself - the one from before, who would never stand for this kind of bullshit treatment and torture against women, and the one that remained after being systematically beaten into complacency - argued over the suggestion. If she had any hope of surviving the insanity of this new society, then she _had_ to conceive, but at what cost?

“You should go,” Killian said. “Your shopping partner will wonder where you are.”

Emma nodded and turned to go, but was stopped by the grasp of Killian’s hand. Emma stared at it, entranced by his long, thick fingers and the dusting of dark hair that wisped over the back of it from his wrist. How much of him was covered by that downy blanket of manliness, she wondered.

“Everything will be alright, Ofarthur,” he said. “I promise.”

Emma snapped her eyes up to him and could not stop the flash of anger she knew had burst forth from their green depths. “Nothing about this is alright,” she seethed, then composed herself with a deep intake of breath as her eyes fell shut, missing his pained expression. “Under His eye,” she offered obediently and he released her arm.

“Under His eye.”

~/~

Emma sat on her bed, her hands dutifully folded in her lap while she waited for Killian to arrive. Over the past four months they’d only exchanged a few dozen words with one another, today’s conversation being their longest to date, yet he was the closest thing she had to a friend within this household. She remembered their first meeting when she was introduced as the Pendragon’s newest Handmaid, and how she’d laid awake that night thinking of him.

He was handsome. Dressed in the all black attire issued to Guardians, he had a dangerous quality about him that sent Emma’s pulse thundering. If they’d met before, perhaps in some bar, sharing a drink and eye fucking one another for a few hours, she would have invited him back to her place. They would have had all the time and freedom in the world to explore one another. She would know the feel of his rough hands on her, and the softness of his dark hair clutched between her fingers. He would whisper all the dirty things she’d seen swirling within his too blue eyes when she caught him staring at her, into her ear with that rich, sinful voice of his.

Emma pulled her lip between her teeth and closed her eyes. Her skin pebbled at the images dancing in her mind of the two of them moving together, their bodies slick with sweat and aching desperately for release. A rush of desire swept over her, leaving her breathless with a throbbing need between her thighs. Swallowing thickly, she stood and crossed her small room to the sink mounted on the wall. The cool water running over her wrists and splashed against her face did little to curb the heated flush spreading over her skin.

A soft knock echoed from the door as she was patting her face dry, and she called out a shaky invitation for him to enter. There was no cause to be nervous, she reminded herself. Nothing was going to actually happen between them. She stuffed down the disappointment that thought caused, as well as the realization that it had been a sense of anticipation and not nervousness that had made her voice quiver.

She knew something was wrong the moment Killian crossed the threshold. The muscle in his jaw was flickering like mad, and he wouldn’t look at her. A moment later, the cause of his countenance made itself known as Mrs. Pendragon followed him into the room.

“Blessed be the fruit,” she greeted piously, after closing the bedroom door behind her.

“May the Lord open,” Emma replied in conditioned response.

“The Commander insisted I be present for your joining,” she explained with stiff discomfort in her tone. “Should your endeavors tonight be fruitful, he thought it best that one of us be present at our child’s conception. You may take your position, Ofarthur.”

Emma’s mind went blank. Moving on auto-pilot, she walked to the foot of the bed and laid atop it with her legs hanging over the end, eyes trained towards the ceiling as she’d been taught. In her lower periphery she noted Mrs. Pendragon perching herself on the deep recesses of the windowsill at the far end of the room, her attention focused on a specific spot on the opposite wall. A blur of black pulled Emma’s attention from where it was fixed upward and her eyes flicked to Killian’s hands undoing his belt and the fastenings of his pants as he stood in front of her bed.

His hands rucked up her skirt then gripped her knees and spread them apart. A soft, lingering pressure where he’d squeezed one of them before removing his hands caused her eyes to dart up to his. _I’m sorry_ , he mouthed, regret lamenting itself over his features as he looked down on her with apologetic remorse. Emma swallowed and wet her lips before giving him a brief nod and returned her gaze upward.

His hips nestled between her thighs and he brought his hands up to grasp her hips, pulling them towards him. When his member brushed along her slick folds, a blush of embarrassment bloomed at her cheeks. There was no way he could be oblivious to the wetness that had pooled there from her salacious thoughts of him earlier. A wetness she couldn’t help but be grateful for when he pushed his way into her, stretching her with an impressive girth that left a delicious burn in its wake. Her lips parted and she held her breath until he was fully seated, worried that the moans collecting in the back of her throat would escape if she gave them breath to carry themselves on.

It took everything she possessed to keep her expression void of all emotion, lest her mistress see. Sex wasn’t for pleasure any more. It was for procreation. Lust was a sin to be fought against in order to remain in God’s good graces. At least, it was for women, and the men who held less powerful positions than the Commanders who justified their carnal needs in dressed up legislation of twisted scripture and divine will.

After a few hesitant thrusts, Killian bent forward and braced himself with his hands placed next to her shoulders, adjusting his stance to compensate for the low height of her bed. He rocked his hips into her in a steady rhythm, his eyes cast to the side in shame. She clenched her core around his length and his eyes darted to hers. She repeated the motion, making his eyes flutter shut and his lips part in a silent groan. When he opened them again, an intensity burned within their depths, catching her ablaze. The comforter balled in her fists as he snapped his hips in a feverish pace. If only he’d tilt those hips a little further.

They couldn’t risk him tilting those hips a little further.

Emma had to remain cognizant of every sound they made. Their skin couldn’t slap together too much, his panting breaths had to be from exertion only, and her breathing had to stay even and unaffected. His quiet grunt and brief expression of bliss preceded the stunted jerk of his hips before she felt his cock convulse and the warmth of his seed spill into her. A moment passed where the two of them just stared into one another’s eyes, desperate to say something and knowing they couldn’t.

A groan caught in the back of Emma’s throat when Killian pulled out, and tears pricked the corner of her eyes as they averted themselves back to the ceiling. The sound of the faucet and water trickling filled her hearing as she lay motionless on the bed. A zipper being pulled up, the jingle of a belt put back in place, and the barely distinguishable, _Go in grace,_ from her mistress’s lips were the last things she heard before the door opened and closed, leaving her alone with Killian’s scent ghosting over her and warmth leaking out of her.

~/~

“Ofarthur, I need you to take this tray to Killian,” the house Martha, Granny, stated when Emma entered the kitchen with her own tray of finished supper.

“Why?”

“He’s ill, and I thought some soup might do him some good.”

“Ill?” She hoped she’d done well enough to keep the edge of worry out of her voice. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. He told the Commander he couldn’t drive him in today because he’d woken up sick to his stomach. He’s been holed up in his room all day. Probably hasn’t eaten a thing.” The older woman muttered, though Emma could hear a tone of concern behind the exasperation. “I still have a lot of work to do, otherwise I’d take it to him myself.”

“Of course,” Emma replied, taking the tray in hand. “I’ll take it to him now.”

“Ofarthur,” the woman called out before Emma could exit the house. “Stay with him and make sure he finishes every last drop… no matter how long it may take.” Emma blinked at the knowing look the woman gave her before smothering it beneath her usually stern features. “Well… off with you, now.”

Emma stepped out into the cool night, her heart hammering in her chest with each step she took towards Killian’s residence above the garage. It had been three days since she’d last seen him, his duties as the Commander’s driver and bodyguard keeping him too busy to drop in at the main house. Too busy and most likely too guilt-stricken to face her. She’d almost snuck out the evening before to go see him. To tell him she didn’t hate him, and that it hadn’t been his fault, but her own guilt and fear that he’d refuse to see her had kept her in her room.

Her hand trembled when she released the tray, now fully supported on her left arm so she could knock on his door. She waited with baited breath, then filled her lungs when she heard the soft pads of his footfalls make their way to the door. His eyes widened in astonishment when he swung the door open and found her standing there.

“Ofarthur, what are you… blessed day,” he corrected, remembering himself. His formal greeting pierced through her, as did his averted gaze.

“Granny said you were ill and sent me with a tray of soup for you.”

He huffed out a sigh and stepped back, giving her space to enter with the tray. She set it down on his small dining table and heard the door click closed behind her.

“She shouldn’t have sent you,” he stated, leaning back against the counter with his arms and ankles crossed. He looked like hell. “I’m fine.”

“Apparently,” Emma scoffed with heavy sarcasm, her eyes taking in his disheveled form and half empty, unlabeled bottle of amber liquid behind his elbow. “I don’t think it’s soup you need. She should have sent me over with some _hair of the dog_.”

A smile teased at his mouth before he could squash it by sucking his lips between his teeth.

“Is this why I haven’t seen you?” she asked, taking a step towards him which caused his entire body to tense. “Have you been up here drowning yourself?”

“I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again. Not after I,” the words died on his tongue and he pushed off from the counter, brushing past her in the small space without even touching her somehow.

“Killian, that wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” He stopped and spun around with his fists clenched at his sides, a self flagellating rage whipping through his aura. “I never thought I’d ever be capable of something like that. Forcing myself onto a woman.” Emma opened her mouth to object, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand as he backed further away. “Don’t deny that’s what happened. I took you without your consent. I may not have had to hold you down, but that doesn’t make what I did any less forced-”

“Yes, it was forced,” she snapped at him. “On _both_ of us, Killian.” She closed the distance between them and coaxed him to look at her with her hand beneath his stubbled chin. “Listen to me. You are not like them. What happened the other night… you were _not_ the perpetrator. You were a victim. Just as much of a victim to the atrocities of this place as I am. I don’t blame you for what happened.”

“Maybe not, but you should,” he uttered with soft contempt, closing his eyes tightly.

“Why?”

“Because I… I wanted you,” he confessed in a hushed breath of shame. “Since the moment I first laid eyes on you, I’ve wanted you. When Mrs. Pendragon approached me, I could have refused. I didn’t have to say yes, I wanted to. I didn’t… I never had any intentions of forcing myself on you, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of some other man… she would have found someone else. Someone who wouldn’t have given a second thought to holding you down and…”

Emma cupped his face in her hands and drew it closer to her own until their foreheads touched. “Do you really think I didn’t want you, too?”

Killian’s eyes flew open and he pulled away only as far as necessary to read her expression. “What?”

“I wanted you, too,” Emma assured him, tracing his jaw with her fingertips and relishing the tickle of his stubble beneath her palm. “You must have felt how wet I was for you that night.”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “That was... for me?”

“For you. Because of you,” she whispered, leaning in to him as she stretched up onto her toes. “It’s what you do to me whenever I imagine your hands on my body.”

Before she could plant her lips on his, he pressed a finger over her mouth and huskily asked, “What’s your name, love? Your real name.”

“Emma,” she breathed. "My name is Emma."

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”

His strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against him as his mouth crashed down onto hers. His tongue wasted no time plunging past the gasp caught on her parted lips, drinking from her like a man dying of thirst.

~/~

Killian reached up and snatched the covering from Emma’s head then tossed it aside. Fumbling for the pins that kept her hair secured in the bun, he gave up trying when she swatted his hand aside to take over the task. He focused his attentions back to her mouth, and groaned at the way her tongue toyed with his. Oh, how he had longed to know the taste of her all these months.

Frantically, they began to claw at one another’s clothing. He slipped her uniformed red dress from her shoulders and watched it fall to the floor, pooling at her feet. She stepped out and kicked it aside before yanking at his belt and pulling his shirt from the waistband of his trousers. His shirt was discarded, her undergarments were shed, and he paused to take in the sight of her, bare before him, until she quirked an eyebrow at him to get a move on with the rest of his coverings.

She was back in his arms, soft and smooth and skimming her hands over his body just as he was over hers. Their lips found each other’s again, slanting and nipping with an urgent frenzy as he pulled her backwards towards his bed.

“Since this will most likely be a one time thing,” Emma panted against his lips, “there’s something I should let you know.”

“Oh? And what’s that, love?”

Her hands slid up his torso until they were planted against his chest. A firm shove had him landing on his bed with a startled _oof_ as she climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.

“I like to be on top,” she stated with a seductive smirk.

“Whatever my lady wishes.”

Killian’s head fell back against the mattress while his hands grasped her hips which had begun to rock back and forth over his length, coating him with her arousal. Her fingernails scraped their way through his chest hair, and teased his nipples until they were as hard as… well, other parts of him. One hand reached down to take hold of him, lining him up at her entrance before she sank down over him.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he groaned, tightening his grip on her hips.

“Language, Guardian Jones,” she admonished. “The Commander would have your tongue removed if he heard you talk like that.”

“Aye, and that would be a crime,” he panted. “Seeing as how useful my tongue can be.”

Abruptly, he sat up, wrapping her in his arms and supporting her as she leaned back, giving him access to her exquisite breasts. His tongue swirled around her nipples, proving its usefulness until they were pebbled into hardened peaks. Without warning, she pushed him back down against the mattress and grabbed his wrists, pinning them over his head as she rocked her hips. Tilting his head up, he watched, mesmerized, as his member slid into her over and over again. His gaze then flicked up to her face, radiant and powerful.

She looked invincible.

“You’re a bloody vision, Emma,” he praised.

Her jade eyes flew open, lusty and pleading, with her golden hair curtaining their faces. “Say it again,” she rasped huskily.

“Emma,” he said with a hint of worship on his lips. “Emma.”

The bounce in her hips increased and she let go of his wrists. Bracing her hands against his chest she continued to ride him with a rough pace. Her name tumbled from his mouth until they both tumbled over the edge of forbidden ecstasy, leaving them both spent and sated, plastered against each other as their breaths and hearts calmed.

“That was…”

“What sex is supposed to be like,” she murmured against his neck.

“Aye, love,” he agreed, tightening his arms around her. “Indeed, it is.”

~/~

Emma awoke to the song of nesting birds outside of Killian’s window. They had become her alarm clock, rousing her while it was still dark so she could sneak back into the main house. Careful not to disturb Killian, Emma slipped from his bed, grabbing the light blanket from its foot as she went. Wrapping it around her, she began to collect her clothes, turning circles in search of her head covering until she found it atop a frame on his dresser.

She picked up the framed photo with reverence, knowing what it meant to Killian. It was the only photo he had of his family, taken before his mother died and his father had run off, leaving his sons to fend for themselves. Killian’s brother, Liam, had worked hard to provide for his younger brother - _though he infuriatingly insisted on calling me ‘little’ brother, Killian groused -_ but after his untimely death while serving in the British Navy, Killian had immigrated to what had still been the United States in order to get away from the ghosts his birth country haunted him with.

He’d been recruited by the Eyes of God while attending university, when the laws had begun to change and women were no longer allowed to hold positions of professorship. It wasn’t that he completely agreed with the ideals held by those early architects of what had become the Republic of Camelot, more, he just longed for something to belong to. He’d been listless and untethered, a ripe target for the opportunistic looking to recruit and brainwash a military force to do the dirty work of corrupt men. Emma had sensed the brimming self-loathing in his words as he’d recalled his life story to her in the quiet hours of the night while they basked in the afterglow of their treason.

What was supposed to be a one time thing had progressed to an almost nightly ritual for nearly three weeks. It was reckless and stupid on both their parts, but Emma knew she was the one with the most to lose. If caught, she’d be sent to the Colonies, or executed. As an Eye, Killian was practically untouchable, but it was unlikely he’d escape such a scandal as bedding a Handmaid unscathed. She should put an end to things before they got in too deep.

 _Too late_ , she thought to herself.

“Emma?” Killian’s groggy voice, thick from sleep, called out from the bed.

“Shhh,” Emma soothed. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

“Only if you’ll come back to bed,” he invited, sitting up and reaching out for her.

“I can’t,” she sighed, though she couldn’t stop her feet from walking towards him. “I have to get back before I’m missed.”

“You know Granny will cover for you.”

She placed her hand in his and gooseflesh rippled up her arm when he began to stroke the back of her hand with his thumb. “I know, but I hate putting her in such a dangerous position.”

“I think the old girl enjoys a little danger.” He tugged firmly on her hand, causing her to lose her balance and fall into his arms. “Sort of like someone else I know,” he quipped before capturing her mouth with his and coaxing her into a luxuriously languid kiss.

“Killian,” she murmured in a half whine. “I have to go.”

“Aye, love. I know,” he surrendered, reluctantly releasing her so she could stand. “The Commander has a late meeting tonight,” he told her, probably to distract himself while he watched her get dressed. “Perhaps I could come to you for a change? Sneak up to your room after I bring Pendragon back home?”

Emma shook her head. “Too risky.”

“No riskier than you sneaking out here every other night.”

“We’re more likely to be overheard in my room,” she said with salacious wink.

“We wouldn’t have to do anything,” he replied softly, picking at some invisible thread on the sheet that covered him. “We could just… hold one another, and-”

“No,” Emma blurted out in a panic, her heart racing at the implication of his words.

“Why not?”

“It’s too…” Her words trailed off, her tongue refusing to give voice to what her heart ached for.

“Too what?” Killian’s brows unfurrowed as understanding seemed to seep in. “Too intimate?” he accused in a harsh tone, with an even harsher stare. “So, what? I’m worth a good shag, and nothing more? Is that it?”

“Killian, be reasonable,” Emma pleaded. “You know there’s no future for us here. Once I’ve served my purpose with the Pendragons I’ll be assigned to a new house where-”

“You’ll be raped every month until your _biological destiny_ is fulfilled for that Commander and his wife,” he seethed, running a hand angrily through his hair.

Emma remained silent. It wasn’t as if she could dispute his statement. She’d been fortunate with her posting at the Pendragons, given the Commander’s malady. It was unlikely she’d be so lucky a second time. Nothing more was said between them as she slipped her shoes onto her feet and made her way out of his quarters. Clouds hung heavy overhead, mimicking the weight that had settled in her heart, and dawn was just beginning to crest as she opened the door to her room on the top floor of the main house.

Pain exploded across the side of her face and she was knocked sideways into the door jamb where she slammed her head before collapsing to the floor.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out?” Mrs. Pendragon spat, crouching down and pulling Emma’s head up by her hair. “How dare you endanger this household with your recklessness. Do you care nothing of our reputation? Of Killian’s? Would you have us all hanging from the wall as an example for others?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Emma stammered. “I didn’t mean to-”

“I don’t want your excuses.” She released her punishing grip and pulled something from her pocket. “Before I decide whether or not to send you back to the Red Center, here,” she thrust the object at Emma, which she could now see was a banned over-the-counter pregnancy test, “take this.”

With trembling hands Emma reached up and took the test from her mistress’s hand then got to her feet. Her head throbbed and she could feel a trickle of blood making its way down the side of her face as she approached the bathroom.

“Leave the door open,” Mrs. Pendragon commanded.

Emma had become well practiced at swallowing down her pride and dignity, and this time was no different. With her mistress looking on, Emma did what was necessary with the indicator stick, her desires vacillating between the two possible outcomes. Negative would mean going back to the Red Center where she’d be _rehabilitated_ as a Handmaid, if she were lucky. Positive would mean she’d get to stay, that her transgressions would be overlooked, but the price of that small mercy would weigh on her for the next nine months.

No. It would weigh on her for the rest of her life, knowing her child would never know its true parents. Would never know anything but this damnable world, void of hope and true kindness.

Once the deed was done, Mrs. Pendragon snatched the test from Emma’s hand. “Now get on your knees and pray that God makes you worthy in some way,” she sneered before exiting the bathroom and setting the test on the bedroom windowsill to wait for the results.

Emma, still shaken up over her mistress’s attack, made her way to the bathroom sink to wash her hands. Red droplets fell into the basin, swirling with the running water before disappearing down the drain in a wash of pink. Gingerly, she pressed her fingers against the wound on her forehead, wincing at the tenderness swelling beneath her fingertips. Emma turned when she heard the bathroom door creak open a little wider, and knew what the results were before Mrs. Pendragon even opened her mouth.

“Praise be His mercy,” she said on a reverent breath, eyes shimmering with unfallen tears of joy.

She walked over to stand next to Emma and placed the pregnancy on the side of the sink, the plus sign jumping off the indicator strip as Emma stared at it. Pregnant. A baby. She was going to have a baby. She was going to have Killian’s baby. Elation and despair battled within her to the point she knew not whether her own brimming tears were those of happiness or sorrow.

“He has answered our prayers,” Mrs. Pendragon stated, smiling over at Emma with a completely different expression than the one she’d offered only moments ago. Her touch on Emma’s hand, now warm and tender, was a contradiction to the backhanded blow still throbbing along her temple, and Emma seethed at the hypocrisy.

“You think I prayed for this?” Emma replied incredulously, causing her mistress’s smile to falter. “You think I prayed to bring a baby into this house? Into this world of cruelty you, and your kind, have created?”

Though her smile remained, Mrs. Pendragon’s expression hardened. “God knows what is in your heart.” All Emma could do was stare, dumbfounded, at the woman until she collected the test, and cleared her throat awkwardly. “I’ll have Granny prepare you a nice big breakfast. You’re eating for two now, after all.”

Emma leaned back over the sink after she’d gone, hot tears now joining the droplets of blood that continued to drip from her face.

~/~

“Blessed day,” Granny greeted when Emma entered the kitchen later that morning.

“Blessed day.”

“I have your breakfast ready. Eggs and toast with some fruit and a nice big glass of milk.” The older woman led her to the table and pulled out her chair for her. Before Emma could sit, she was pulled into an unexpected hug. “God bless you,” Granny whispered into her ear, then hurried back to the kitchen.

Emma couldn’t bring herself to begrudge Granny her reaction. Children were a miracle, even more so in this day and age when infertility threatened the population more than war and famine combined. When the Mexican Ambassador had visited Camelot a few months ago, she’d told Emma that her village had not had a child born alive in over six years. The fact that a new life now grew within her should be something to celebrate, or to honor at the very least, but all Emma could do was question.

Question what the hell God was thinking, and what she’d ever done to deserve this kind of torment.

Because it was a torment. The truth was, in those moments before her mistress confirmed her condition, Emma had resolved the desires of her heart. She’d wanted the test to read positive. Not because it would mean her protection, but because of the hope such an idea stirred within her. The hope of a future, of a family, of a life where she could raise her child with its father at her side. A life she never had the opportunity to experience with her first child when she’d given birth in jail, out of wedlock. A life that could never be, but one she knew she would cling to every day until the moment she had to put her baby in another woman’s arms before she was reassigned, never to see her child or its father again.

At least Killian would be here to watch over their child. Now, more than ever, Emma determined that their _dalliances_ , as he called them, had to end. She couldn’t give the Pendragons any reason to have Killian removed from the house.

“What happened?”

Killian’s concerned voice called out softly from the back entrance, pulling Emma from her thoughts and reminding her of the gash that had begun to bruise on her forehead.

“She found out,” she told him while keeping her eyes averted from his stare. Was he still angry with her? She’d nearly forgotten about their argument. So much had changed in just a few short hours. “About us.”

“Are you okay?” He walked towards her, and she could feel his eyes searching for other injuries. “Did she say what she intends to do? Is she going to report us?”

Emma shook her head. “She isn’t going to do anything.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Slowly, her eyes lifted until they met his bewildered gaze. “She isn’t going to do anything, because I’m… I’m pregnant.”

Emma heard the air rush out of his lungs. “What?”

“She had a test. Must have gotten it off the black market, or something.”

His awe-filled gaze fell to her lap and he crouched down onto one knee beside her chair.

“Don’t,” she protested weakly when he placed his hand over her stomach, choking on emotion that was building at the back of her throat. “It’s… it’s terrible.”

His eyes swept up, seeking hers, which were stubbornly fixed on a painting hanging on the far wall. She couldn’t bear to look at him, to see his agreement, the revelation that he, too, thought it terrible news, bloom in those brilliant blues.

“No, it isn’t, love.”

She swallowed a sob and let out a stuttered breath. Turning her gaze down to his, she nearly wept at the look shining from his face. The one that mirrored what her heart had been trying to suppress all morning. Hope.

Tentatively, she moved her hand to cover his, the two linking together at the junction between their thumbs and forefingers. Killian placed his other hand onto her shoulder then buried his face into the fabric of her sleeve, nuzzling his cheek against her arm before gazing back up at her with a soft smile pulling at his lips.

“Killian,” Granny interrupted with a tone of reluctance in her voice. “The Commander wants to see you in his office.”

Emma sucked in a worried breath and tightened her grip on Killian’s hand. Her eyes widened with the fear that had spiked within her. Meetings in the Commander’s office were rarely good.

“It’ll be alright, love.” When she wouldn’t release his hand he brought his other one up to cup her face. “Emma. Everything is going to be alright. I promise.”

She nodded and let him pull his hand away as he stood. He gripped her shoulder once more and gave it a soothing squeeze before leaving to answer the summons. Emma took her time eating breakfast, not wishing to leave the kitchen table because she knew Killian would have to pass by this way to return to the garage. When he finally appeared, she pulled him onto the back patio and into a private corner.

“What happened?” she asked urgently. “What did he want?”

“He wanted to thank me,” Killian answered bitterly. “For the great service I’ve done for the family, and for going _above and beyond_ the call of duty.”

“Do you think he knows? Do you think she told him about us? I mean… about us being together more than just that one time?”

“Aye. He knows.” Killian ran a hand down his face and scratched at the stubble along his jawline.

“We have to stop.” The words popped out before she could give them a second thought, stilling his hand then causing it to fall to his side as he stared at her with assessing eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s just… It’s one thing for us to carry on while they hoped I’d become pregnant, it’s another to keep sleeping together when there’s no other reason than our own selfish pleasure. We’re going to be watched so much more closely now, and I can’t… I don’t want to risk your position here.” She felt a tear slip down her cheek. She hadn’t even realized how close to tears she was, and the sight of it softened Killian’s expression. “It’ll be easier for me,” she continued on, barely able to give breath to her words, “to know that you’re here, with our child, after I’m forced to leave it behind.”

Killian pulled her into his arms and held her while she spent those unexpected tears. His hand rubbed soothing circles over her back while his cheek rested against the top of her head.

“If that’s what you want, Emma,” he murmured into her hair. “Your heart’s desire. I promise that’s all I want you to have.”

“Well, I can’t ever have that,” she sniffled with disdain, “but I’d settle for knowing you’ll be here to watch out for this child, which means we can’t do anything to jeopardize your position here.”

“As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love to @ilovemesomekillianjones for her fabulous beta skills!


	2. Chapter 2

Killian stood at attention just inside the Commander’s office door, keeping watch over the man his child would someday call father. While the wives gathered in the main living area to celebrate the impending arrival, still many months off, of the Pendragon’s miracle, the husband’s cordoned themselves off with whiskey and cigars to congratulate their fellow Commander on his ability to procreate.

If they only knew.

Over the past several months, Killian had been forced to stand by and silently look on as another man and woman shared the excitement and bright prospects of a future that should be his and Emma’s. He could only imagine how Emma felt. All he _could_ do was imagine, for ever since she’d insisted they stop their secret interludes, they’d scarcely been in the same room with one another. When duty or expectation called the entire household together to afford him the chance to at least see her, it was always without the opportunity to converse openly outside the expected greetings and pleasantries. It didn’t stop him from attempting to glean how she was faring, though.

Whenever she passed by him in the drive on her way to do the day’s shopping, or in those moments where he caught glimpses of her in the house, he was always intently studying her form and countenance. He remembered vividly a morning not long ago when he first caught sight of the evidence of their child from the gentle swell that bumped out from her abdomen under her red handmaid’s dress. His hands had itched with the desire to run themselves over her stomach, to bear witness to the testimony of the life they’d created first hand, but it would have been reckless to do so in that moment. And every moment since then.

“Praise be, Pendragon,” the newest arriving Commander greeted, approaching Killian’s Commander with open arms.

“Praise be, Commander Oz,” Commander Pendragon responded as the two men hugged before Pendragon offered Oz a cigar.

“You are fortunate, indeed,” Oz commented. “My handmaid is about to reach her expiration date, but she wasn’t that much fun to begin with,” he shared with the other Commander in a low tone, so as to not be overheard. “How’s yours?”

“Oh, she’s… proven fruitful,” Pendragon offered, clearly caught off guard by the question.

“And not bad looking, either,” Oz mused whilst lighting his cigar. “How long do you plan for her to stay on after the birth,” he asked, releasing a puff of acrid smoke out the side of his mouth which wafted right into Killian’s face.

Suppressing a cough, he heard Pendragon state his assumption that _Ofarthur_ would remain at her current post until the baby was weaned, as was customary.

“Any chance you could be persuaded to let her go before then?” When Pendragon did not immediately reply, Oz stepped closer and murmured, “I would be more inclined to back the proposal you brought to me last week if I knew I had such a lovely and _fruitful_ Handmaid coming my way soon.”

Killian’s stomach turned. He clenched his jaw and balled his hands, thankful they were clasped firmly behind his back so the surge of hostility roaring to life within him might go unnoticed. When his Commander’s eyes flicked towards him, Killian knew the hard expression and stiff posture attributed to his Guardian status was probably now more intense than strictly necessary.

“Even if we did decide to return Ofarthur to the Red Center early, there is no guarantee as to whose household she’d be posted to next.”

“Come now, Arthur,” Oz schmoozed, “surely a man of your stature and position would have some influence over the decision.”

“I suppose I could talk with the Commander that oversees the Red Center,” Pendragon relented. “He does owe me a favor.”

“Excellent!” Oz puffed triumphantly on his cigar, and Killian’s hands itched with a new desire. A desire to choke the life out of Commander Walsh Oz, so he could never lay a hand on his Emma.

~/~

Emma leaned against the kitchen counter, idly running her hand across her abdomen which had only begun to grow outward. She thought it ridiculous to hold a baby shower so early, but Camelot tradition dictated that once the Handmaid made it through the first trimester, a shower for the _expectant mother_ could be held. So many of the women waited years for the hope of a child, so she supposed it made sense that they were unwilling to wait a moment longer to experience every blessing and activity that accompanied a pregnancy.

Especially when they could not experience the pregnancy themselves.

In the life before, Emma might have been able to drum up sympathy for them. To weep alongside them each month when the proof that their womb might always be barren solidified itself in the soiled rags of womanhood. In Camelot, though, it was difficult to muster up anything short of disdain and revulsion for the women who held down a Handmaid each month so their husband could force themselves upon them during the ritualistic rape of the Ceremony. Even if such an atrocity had not befallen her, yet.

“Ah, you must be the esteemed Ofarthur,” a voice oiled from the entryway leading into the kitchens.

“Blessed day,” she greeted with her head bowed and eyes cast downward, as was proper according the customs beaten into her at the Red Center.

“Blessed be the fruit.”

“May the Lord open.”

“Indeed,” the man replied, his shoes coming into view from where her eyes remained affixed at the floor. “With luck He’ll open things for me… with you.”

Emma couldn’t help the jerk of her head as it snapped up to meet his gaze. A look swirled in his eyes, which were raking over her, that made her skin crawl.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s all been arranged,” he continued, either oblivious or unconcerned by the distress in her tone. “Pendragon doesn’t think they’ll need you long past the birth of the child. Neither he, nor the Commander of the Red Center, see any point in delaying an opportunity for you to bless another Commander’s household.” He stepped closer to her, trapping her where she was pressed against the counter. “My household.”

Emma swallowed back the bile that had started to rise from her churning stomach.

“Would you like that?” he asked, though Emma knew it wasn’t a real question with an expectation of an honest answer.

“It is always an honor to do one’s duty,” she choked out softly.

“I’m sure you and I can engage in more than what only honor and duty require. Though, I do expect you to fulfill your duty.”

He placed his hand over the slight swell of her stomach and it took everything within her not to punch him in the face. Tightly, she gripped the counter to keep her hands from swatting his away, but she couldn’t stop her body from physically recoiling when his hand moved up, brushing the underside of her breast.

He must have taken the shudder that passed over her as a sign of desire. A disgustingly wicked grin broke across his face and he leaned in closer. “We will have so much fun together, you and I.”

Emma wanted to scream, to call out for help, for she was sure the man intended to kiss her. It would be her word against his, though, and while she had some protection against harsh punishments while in her condition, there were still a number of torments the Aunts, the matrons in charge of the Handmaids and the Red Centers, could inflict that would pose no threat to the baby. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, hoping the small rebuff would be enough to hold him off without causing him extreme offense. Loathsome as he was, she couldn’t risk his ire if she did happen to get posted to his household.

“Commander Oz,” Killian’s voice barked with authoritative tone. “Your car is out front, and your _wife_ is waiting for you in the foyer, sir.”

The Commander pulled back, his hand still placed high on her abdomen, and Emma noted the tick in Killian’s jaw when his eyes flicked to her waist and back up again, giving the back of the man’s head a hard stare.

“Thank you, Guardian Jones,” the man answered without taking his eyes off Emma. “Until we meet again… Ofwalsh.”

The man departed and Emma felt as though her legs might give out. Killian watched him go, making certain he and his wife were out the front door before making his way towards her.

“Killian,” their mistress interrupted, appearing in the doorway just steps behind him. “Mrs. Gold needs a ride home. Her husband has to go back to the office and it’s in the opposite direction. Would you bring the car around please?”

“Aye, ma’am,” he replied dutifully, his stance and tone every bit the respectable Guardian.

“Ofarthur, you must be exhausted,” she said, turning her attention to Emma who was still clutching the counter for support. “Head up to bed. The baby needs rest.”

“Yes, Mrs. Pendragon.” Emma retreated on shaky legs, brushing past Killian without a glance or a word, seeing as their mistress remained to make sure her orders were carried out.

There was no way she’d be able to rest. Pacing the length of her room, the fear and panic she’d experienced in the kitchen quickly turned to rage. Enraged that she’d been fearful, and had cause to panic in the first place. It wasn’t so long ago, she would have never cowered before a man like that. Would never have allowed him to get close to her, much less touch her. She wouldn’t have needed someone to step in and save her.

“No one saves me, but me,” she muttered indignantly, shaking out her hands in an attempt to expel the tension and contempt coiling tighter in every nerve ending.

This place had done everything it could to strip away all that had made her Emma. All that had made her strong and capable, a woman who’d survived being abandoned and betrayed, now reduced to being a broodmare for a society that saw her as nothing more than _of a man_ ’s, to do with as he pleased. She supposed it wasn’t the first time in history that women had been treated this way, seen as nothing more than mere objects. Property.

Camelot could ban women from reading and deny literacy to the next generation of girls, but it couldn’t take away the knowledge Emma already possessed. The knowledge of women throughout the centuries who’d demanded to be seen in a different way. To punch back and say, no, _this_ is who and what I am.

She would really love to punch something right about now.

~/~

The soft glow seeping out from under the Commander’s office door told Killian that Pendragon had not yet retired for the night. Given the amount he’d witnessed the man drink during the events of the evening, it was quite possible the man was simply passed out in his chair. Killian knew that his mistress would already be abed, aided by a pill that had to be the only way her conscience could allow her a night’s rest.

Anger still coursed through Killian’s veins as he treaded lightly up the servant’s stairs towards Emma’s room. The tingling in his fingertips caused his hands to flex at his sides, and he was unsure which of the myriad of emotions that had triggered the response over the span of the past few hours and days was lingering behind his nail beds. The longing to touch the woman who carried his child, the rage at another man who’d dared do such a thing, or the insult of knowing that the vile man had felt what should have been Killian’s right and privilege to experience before even he could.

A wash of red invaded his vision once more at the memory of seeing the man’s hand over Emma’s stomach, over his child. Hearing the man address her as his own, as if it were a foregone conclusion she’d end up in his bed, had his hand twitching towards the gun holstered at his side. The panic and fear that had been evident in his fiery lass’ emerald eyes had compelled him to comfort her, to gather her in his arms and declare promises he wasn’t sure how he would keep. The compulsion had stayed with him as he’d driven Mistress Gold home, and propelled him forward with each step he took towards the handmaid’s bedroom.

Pressing an ear to her door, he could hear movement on the other side. He opened the door and stepped in quickly, closing it as softly as he could behind him and startling Emma mid-pace across the room.

“What are you doing here,” she whisper shouted at him. “You know what’ll happen if they catch you up here.”

“Aye, I just,” he willed his mind to focus. Now that he was there, alone with her for the first time in months, more than mere comfort and concern began to swirl in his gut, and a bit lower. The thin cotton of her nightdress, which left her legs bare and exposed from mid-thigh down wasn’t helping the tension that had migrated from his shoulders to his trousers. “I just needed to see you,” he finally admitted on a strained breath. “I wanted to make sure you were okay after your encounter with Commander Oz.”

“You needn’t have bothered,” she asserted as she resumed her pacing. “I’m fine.”

“Aye… I can see that.” He watched her for a few more seconds before confessing, “But I’m not.” She stopped and faced him, her expression telling him she hadn’t been expecting that revelation. “I almost shot the bastard when I saw his hands on you.”

“Shooting him wouldn’t do any good, you know that.”

“It would have felt good, though,” he said, taking involuntary steps towards her as though some invisible force were pulling him into her orbit. “A reminder to these fucks that they should never have put their hands on that which does not belong to them.”

“What doesn’t belong to them?” Emma parroted back to him.

She’d always been something of an open book to him, so he knew, even as hollow as her voice had sounded, that something deeper was churning beneath her surface. Something that threatened to erupt. Question was, would it be a violent explosion, or a quiet detonation of destruction? Either way, Killian knew she couldn’t keep burying her feelings behind the facade of compliance and defeatism.

“Are you saying that Walsh was wrong to put his hands on me, because it should only be your right to do so? That because it’s your child I carry, I somehow belong to you?”

“You belong to no one but yourself,” he stated. “I won’t pretend that I _haven’t_ felt that way, though. That when I saw the swell of your stomach for the first time, the proof of our babe growing within you, that I didn’t feel a sense of pride over the knowledge that I was the one who’d put it there.”

“As well as the sense that it’s your _duty_ to protect me?” she scorned, stepping closer to where he’d paused his steps just a few paces away from her. “I don’t need you to protect me, Killian. We both know there’s nothing you can do anyway. There’s nothing either of us can do. I can’t stop the Pendragons from taking my baby, from sending me away, knowing that my child will never know who I am.”

“You think you’re alone in this, Emma?” Killian questioned softly. “You think it doesn’t gut me to know that the first time I hear our child utter the word _daddy_ , it won’t be addressed to me? That I’ll have to look upon its golden curls or green eyes every day, haunted by the memory of you while another man…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Couldn’t bring himself to think it. His hands began to shake and all he could do was reach out for her. She came to him willingly, drawn into his embrace with her arms circling his neck while he buried his face in her hair. The scent of lavender filled his sinuses, sending a ripple of calm over him even as the need for her increased with each beat of his pulse.

Emma pulled back to look up at him, and he met her gaze, blazing with her own need for him. Her hand slipped into his hair as he leaned in, their breath teasing one another while their mouths hovered over the other’s in bated anticipation. His lips and tongue had just skimmed hers when he felt her grip tighten against his locks. She wrenched his head back, pulling his neck taut and forcing his eyes shut from the sting in his scalp.

With some difficulty, he forced a swallow past his Adam’s apple then opened his eyes. A war of need was waging in Emma’s stare; a need for comfort versus a need for control. Written within her gaze was the desire to surrender to the solace they might temporarily find in the soothing embrace of the other’s arms, battling with the demand in her spirit to take back some of the power Camelot had stolen from her. Having been left without the ability to make her own choices for so long, Killian’s heart broke at the struggle that seemed to paralyze her in that moment. The struggle to choose.

Her heart’s desire. He’d promised that was all he ever wanted for her. He’d said she belonged to no one but herself, and that was true. He had no claim on her, but whether she knew it or not, she’d claimed his heart for her own long ago. He was hers, to comfort or control for as long as fate allowed them to remain together.

His hands fell back to his sides and he stood before her in submission, his expression open and yielding to whatever she would command of him. Her eyes flickered between his, and the conflict within her green depths resolved itself with another firm tug on his hair, forcing a grunt to resonate in the back of his throat. While her gaze traced over the chords of his neck, her other hand brushed the front of his pants. He sucked in a breath as she yanked down his zipper then released it on a soft groan when she slid her hand inside. Maneuvering her way past his boxers, she wrapped her hand around his length and guided it out. A strangled sound caught in the roof of his mouth when she jerked his head back once more as she began to pump him.

“I don’t need you to save me,” she whispered against his neck before grazing her teeth over his skin, sending a thrill down his spine.

“I know.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

Her thumb swirled over and around his tip, spreading the moisture that collected there and his eyes fell shut at the sensation.

“I know.”

Her hand stilled, then fell away and his eyes fluttered open. The grip on his hair released, allowing him to look her in the face, her expression more vulnerable than he’d ever witnessed before.

“But…” she said on a shaky breath, “I don’t want to face all of this alone.” Tears pooled in her eyes, one slipping past her lashes before she could try and dispel them. “I miss you.”

Killian cupped her cheeks and brought his forehead forward to rest against hers. “I miss you, too,” he told her with all the tenderness he could muster. “You aren’t alone, Emma. I will be by your side until they force us apart, and even then… I’ll never stop fighting for us. All of us.”

Emma reached up and pulled a hand from her cheek. With a small squeeze of prompting, she guided it down to rest upon her stomach, the swell of her belly fitting perfectly within the palm of his hand. His own tears began to sting in his eyes, blurring his vision as he caressed his thumb over the sheer fabric covering her abdomen.

Lifting herself onto her toes, Emma brushed her lips against his. When he pulled her flush against him, his still exposed cock rubbed against her stomach, causing him to groan against her mouth.

“I should go,” he whispered, with no real intent on leaving as he began to press kisses along the column of her throat. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay. I want you.”

“I want you, too,” she replied breathlessly, “but we can’t risk it. _You_ can’t risk it. We’ve been reckless enough as it is.”

“It’s only reckless if there’s a chance of being caught,” he argued, his hands skimming over her backside to the bare expanse of her thighs. “The Commander’s likely passed out drunk, and the mistress will be out until morning, thanks to her sleep aid.” His cock twitched at the revelation that she wasn’t wearing any undergarments, and he began to maneuver them towards her bed. “That just leaves Granny and the other servants to concern ourselves with.”

When their legs bumped the side of her mattress, Killian pulled back to search her expression. He’d leave if she insisted, head back to his room and take himself in hand as he’d done for months in order to alleviate the ache of desire. But gods did he hope she didn’t send him away.

Eyes locked with his, her fingers began to flick open the buttons of his shirt. “I guess you’ll have to be quiet then,” she smirked, pushing his shirt off his shoulders then moving her attentions to rid him of his pants.

“ _I’ll_ have to be quiet?” he scoffed amusedly, bending down to remove his boots so he could step out of his pants. “I seem to remember eliciting some rather vocal responses from those lips, darling.”

She lifted her nightgown from her body and crawled onto her bed with him eagerly following. Before he could pull her towards him again and claim her mouth with his own, she placed her fingers over his lips.

“Yes,” she skimmed her finger tips over his slightly parted mouth then down the front of his neck and chest, “but those are going to be a little too occupied pulling those same _responses_ from you.”

Killian swallowed as her lips followed the path her fingers were blazing over his skin. “Emma, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” she breathed along his abdomen. “Now, lie back.”

He sure as hell wasn’t going to argue with her further, not when the hot vapor of her breath reached the thick thatch of hair between his legs, making his member throb with such exquisite torment. His teeth sank into his lip when her tongue slid up the length of his shaft before circling around its head. With flared nostrils, he inhaled deeply as she took him into her mouth and released it in stuttered spurts with each bob of her head. His back arched slightly, the muscles along his shoulders rippling with fresh tension when she reached between his legs and fondled him.

The forbiddenness of their activities only heightened the pleasure. Fellatio, sodomy, cunnilingus, all acts prohibited under the new regime were now a show of defiance as much as a display of passion. While Emma fucked him with her mouth it was as though they were both declaring a loud _F You_ to the Republic hell bent on stripping away all the pleasures and privileges of humanity. Pleasures Killian would gladly lay down his life for the privilege of sharing with the woman he so desperately wished he could call his own.

“Fuck, Emma. Please!”

“Please what?” she asked coyly after releasing him with a soft pop.

“I need you,” he panted. “Need to be inside you. Please.”

She made her way up his body and straddled his hips. Reaching up, he palmed her breasts while she lined herself up over him, impaling herself slowly, causing both their heads to fall back with a silent groan escaping parted lips.

Their movements had to remain small and controlled, lest they make the springs bounce and bed squeak. His hands moved to her waist, his thumbs brushing over the bump at her belly while her hips swiveled and rolled against his. One thumb trailed down, seeking out her clit from between her slick folds and she gasped at the gentle pressure he began to apply there.

“Come for me, love,” he enticed, increasing his ministrations to match the pacing of her movements.

The tightening in his groin was nearly at its breaking point, but he wouldn’t allow himself to find his release before her. When she did finally break apart he had to cover her mouth to keep her cries from carrying beyond the room; an action she reciprocated when he felt himself shatter a moment later. Emma collapsed against his chest, immediately enveloped in his arms, and seemed as content as he to remain there.

“Whose dumb idea was it that we stop doing this?” she said with a measure of teasing.

“I believe it was yours, love,” Killian reminded her with a kiss to her temple. “Are you saying you wish to resume our acts of treason?”

He couldn’t help the note of hope that rang through his words.

“It’s risky,” she murmured thoughtfully.

Killian pushed Emma’s hair away from her face and tilted her chin up until she was looking up into his eyes. “You’re worth the risk.” He could see the doubt in her expression and nuzzled her nose with his in an attempt to expel her disbelief. “If all we have are these precious months of the remainder of the pregnancy, then I want us to share every moment we can with each other. Risk be damned.”

“Won’t that make it harder, though?” she countered. “When the times comes that we have to say goodbye?”

“Harder than it would be to say goodbye if this were our last night spent in each other’s arms?”

The thought of that had him tightening his hold on her, and she nestled her head back against his chest.

“No,” she whispered. “I already have no idea how I’m going to say goodbye to you. Either of you.”

 _Then we won’t._ The thought popped into Killian’s mind without warning, and with it a fresh resolve. He was going to get them out. One way or another, he’d find a way for them to escape this place.

Or die trying.

~/~

“You’re nearly done with the second trimester,” Cora, one the Red Center Aunts, commented after measuring Emma’s belly. “How are you feeling?”

“I am well enough,” Emma replied as Aunt Cora wrapped the blood pressure cuff around her arm.

“Wonderful.”

Words danced on the tip of Emma’s tongue, eager to express themselves and hopeful that the mercurial woman before her would today be an ally.

“Aunt Cora, may I be honest with you?” Emma asked tentatively.

“Of course, dear.” She finished her task then gave her attention to Emma, who’d been chewing her lip in contemplation.

“The truth is,” she began softly, knowing that any wrong word or inflection could be met with a harsh response. “I’m worried the Commander and Mrs. Pendragon will make me leave the house as soon as the baby comes.”

Aunt Cora attempted to disguise her expression of shock. Whether it was shock from not knowing that information herself, or the fact that Emma knew it, she could not say.

“That is their prerogative. We will honor what the parents feel is best for the welfare of their baby.” Emma tried not to bristle at the woman’s words. _Their baby_. “And we will act in the best interests of whichever household you are assigned to next.”

Bile started to work its way up from her stomach. “How quickly will that happen?”

“Not until you are physically able to perform your duties,” the Aunt assured her. “No matter how much pressure these Commanders apply.”

“Pressure?”

“You are a popular girl.” Cora glanced down at her with a simpering smile. “Several households have already made overtures in the hopes of having you assigned to them. Commander and Mrs. Oz even sent over baked goods as a bit of bribery. I’ve left them in the kitchen for when your mistress feels you are entitled to a special treat.”

“Does that work?” Emma inquired, balling her hands in her lap and allowing the crescent shaped divots her nails were pressing into her palms to help keep her voice steady. “Bribery?”

“Perhaps bribery isn’t the proper term,” she backpedaled. “It isn’t as if the Handmaid has any say in the matter, but treats are sometimes sent to help endear a Handmaid to a family before they arrive. Help break the ice, so to speak.”

“So, this Commander Oz and his wife feel rather confident that I’ll be assigned to them?”

“It would seem so.” Aunt Cora shook her head and began packing up her midwifery bag. “But you are getting ahead of yourself, my dear. You still have a duty and obligation to the Pendragons to perform before you need to consider your next posting.”

“Ofarthur,” Granny called out from the doorway of the sitting room. “If you’ve finished with your examination, the Commander has summoned us to the living room.”

Emma looked up at Cora who nodded, dismissing her from the woman’s presence. “I will see you next week, dear.”

Following Granny out of the room, Emma whispered, “What’s going on?”

“They tell me?” Granny muttered under her breath, causing the edges of Emma’s mouth to twitch upward.

When they entered the room, Commander Pendragon was seated on the settee looking over documents with Killian positioned behind him over one shoulder. A young man, decked out in Guardian garb, stood at attention in the middle of the room.

“Ah, there you are,” the Commander said, glancing at his watch after handing a folder of papers off to Killian.

The young Guardian looked over at her with a hard stare, silently berating her as if she’d intentionally been late to this meeting, of which she knew nothing about.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Emma replied to the Commander in a deferential tone.

“Don’t worry yourself over it,” the Commander waved off. “I understand you had an appointment with one of the Aunts.”

“Yes.”

“And is everything okay? With the baby?”

“Yes, Commander.” Emma couldn’t keep her eyes from flicking up to Killian’s. “Aunt Cora says the baby is progressing very well.”

“Good.” He tucked his pen in the inside pocket of his jacket and stood. “I’m taking a short trip for work. Mrs. Pendragon will be joining me, and Killian will of course be coming along to act as our security. While we are gone, Felix,” he nodded towards the young Guardian, “will watch over the house and the baby.”

“Blessed be the fruit,” Felix recited dutifully.

“May the Lord open.” _A way of escape_ , she finished in her head. It had become her new mantra of late, given how desperate she was to not have her baby born within Camelot.

“Felix has been graciously loaned to us by Commander Oz,” Pendragon continued. “I know you all will be on your best behavior.”

“Yes, sir,” she and Granny replied, eyeing one another with equal hesitancy.

“Where are you going?” Emma chanced with playful curiosity, catching Killian’s eyes before they turned down towards his feet.

“Canada.”

The Commander’s answer rang out in her head. _Canada._ The only source of salvation for those hoping to flee Camelot’s regime. Their borders had remained open during the war, welcoming refugees upon the tens of thousands and granting U.S. citizens a place of sanctuary. Emma had only been about two miles from the border when she’d been caught by Camelot Guardians and transported to the nearest Red Center. She’d been flagged by the regime early on as a _desirable_ due to her history of fertility and having had experienced a live birth once before. Once she’d been tagged with the red indicator pierced through the top of her ear and forced to don the red dress, all hope of escape had drained out of her.

Until now.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must finish packing.” The Commander began to exit the room, pausing only long enough to issue a few final commands. “Killian you may collect our luggage shortly. Felix, I’m putting my trust in you. Keep them safe.”

“Yes, sir. I will,” the young man replied.

The four of them remained, awkwardly looking around at one another until Granny thankfully broke the tension.

“Come along, Felix. I’ll show you to the servant’s quarters and get you set up.”

For a moment the Guardian seemed leary in leaving the two of them alone together, but eventually gave a brusque nod before following Granny out the door. Emma was in Killian’s embrace only seconds later, savoring the feel of his arms around her and his heart beating gently against her ear through his chest. She knew they didn’t have long, but neither of them wanted to waste any opportunity for a quiet moment together.

“Everything is well with the babe, you said?”

“Yes,” Emma assured him. “Cora said everything is perfect.” Reluctantly, she pulled away, but then grabbed his hand and led him over to the nook next to the fireplace which would afford them a bit more privacy. “When did you find out about the trip?”

“This morning. I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you, but the Aunt arrived just as I was leaving Pendragon’s office.”

“It’s okay. How long will you be gone?”

“A few days.” Killian placed a hand over her belly and she covered it with her own. “But not a day will go by I won’t think of you both.”

“Good,” she breathed as her heart fluttered in her chest.

A soft smile spread over his lips and crinkled at his eyes until they suddenly widened and flicked down to her stomach.

“Was that?”

“I think she’s going to miss you, too,” Emma said with mirth lacing her words at Killian’s awed expression. They didn’t know for sure if it was a girl, Camelot preferred to learn these things the _traditional way_ , but Emma had a feeling. “I’d hoped you’d be the first to feel her move. I think she finds your voice soothing, because she never seems active when you’re around. Now I won’t have to hide the fact those kicks are strong enough to be felt now.”

“You mean, no one else has felt-”

Emma shook her head, cutting off his question. “Just us.”

Killian sank down to one knee and framed her belly with his hands, resting his forehead against its protrusion.

“Do you ever think about the three of us? What we could be?” He lifted his gaze back up to her, and Emma’s heart nearly stopped from the look in his too blue eyes. “Because I do. I think about it all the time.”

“I think about it, too,” she confessed past the lump in her throat. “But Cora all but confirmed that the Pendragons aren’t going to let me stay here after the birth. Which means… we don’t have much time left.”

“Aye,” Killian sighed, getting to his feet. “I know.”

Tears burned in Emma’s eyes at the notion she was about to voice, the tightening in her chest almost making it impossible to get the words out.

“Don’t come back,” she blurted out.

Killian’s brows furrowed and he cocked his head to one side. “What do you mean, don’t come back?”

“You’re going to Canada, Killian,” Emma whispered urgently. “All you have to do is get to one of the refugee centers and they’ll grant you asylum. You can escape.”

“And leave you and our child here to rot?” Killian protested. “No, Emma. I can’t do that. I won’t,” he stated vehemently with fire blazing in his eyes.

“But with you on the other side, you might be able to find a way to get us out. You’ll have all sorts of intel to offer.”

“And what if that intel proves futile? What if those in charge don’t feel it would be worth the risk? I could never forgive myself for leaving you behind.”

“And I could never forgive myself, knowing you had a chance to escape and didn’t because of me.” Her tears broke free and began streaking down her face. “Please, Killian. Promise me if you get the chance, you’ll take it.”

“Emma, I-”

“Promise!”

“Alright, love,” he conceded, pulling her back into his arms. “I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional warnings for this chapter: Underage bride, pregnancy distress, labor complications

* * *

The buzz of the hotel bar drew Killian down the steps and through the throng of patrons. How many nights had he spent perched on a bar stool, nursing a beer - or something stronger - in the time before?

The time before.

Since arriving in Canada, the _time before_ had been jarringly present. Men and women going about their daily lives openly on the street, with their cell phones, individualized fashions, and unapologetic displays of affection through hand holding, arms wrapped around waists, and lips caressing one another with promises of later. What he wouldn’t give to see Emma in this setting. To see her dressed in tight jeans and tall boots, expressing herself in colors beyond the stark hues of red while freely roaming the city as she scrolled through social media. Perhaps they’d meet one another here. A rendezvous over drinks that would lead to them falling into one of the beds in a room upstairs. Or she’d invite him back to her place, but in their eagerness they’d duck into an alleyway to explore each other without fear of any repercussions greater than simple embarrassment at being caught.

No threat of the Colonies or the wall. No fear of losing a hand for touching what didn’t belong to him, or ending up in a watery grave for engaging in an illicit affair with a Handmaid.

A Handmaid he’d fallen completely in love with and would soon share the moniker of parent.

Looking back over his shoulder, Killian eyed the revolving doors that led to a line of awaiting taxis, idling at the ready. The nearest refugee center was only a short drive from the hotel, but Killian hadn’t been able to force himself to take that promised step just yet. A fresh excuse surged forward in his mind. He only had Camelot currency on him and he wasn’t sure if the cab driver would accept it. It was a rubbish excuse, he knew. The refugee center would likely cover the fare, if they took him in.

The uncertainty of whether or not they’d offer him asylum was another excuse.

He wasn’t just a citizen of Camelot. Not just a driver or Guardian. He was an Eye. Considered by many to be every bit as much of a war criminal as the Commanders he served. Emma had been correct, he had information that many within the now crippled US government would fall over themselves for. Information he could use to barter a deal for himself.

But at what cost?

He didn’t want to use up whatever leverage he had in order to save his own skin. He needed to keep something in reserve that would put pressure on the powers that be to try and get Emma and their child out as well. He needed a plan before presenting himself before the mercy of the outside world, and he wouldn’t make good on his vow until he had one.

Killian claimed a seat at the bar and waited for the bartender to finish making drinks for the couple at the far end before signaling him over.

“What’ll it be?”

“Rum. Neat,” he answered the bartender.

“Sounds good. Make it two, please,” a voice sounded behind him before a man slid into the seat beside him. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?”

“It’s a free country, mate.” His glass of rum hadn’t sat on the bar for more than a second before Killian picked it up and tossed back its contents.

“Which is more than I can say for yours,” the man quipped jovially while signaling that the bartender bring Killian another.

He eyed the man suspiciously as a fresh glass was set in front of him. “Look, mate. I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t speak to the press, and no amount of rum is going to loosen up my tongue enough to make the tab you’ll run up trying worth your while.”

“Good thing I’m not the press,” the man shot back, leisurely sipping at his own drink.

“Who are you then?” Killian demanded softly.

“David Nolan,” the man replied, holding out his hand as an olive branch of civility.

“Killian Jones.” He took the proffered hand and gave it a brief shake before claiming his glass once more. “But I have a feeling you already knew that.”

“We do our best to stay informed about Camelot visitors.”

“We who?” Killian arched a brow at his bar mate then narrowed his eyes. “Are you from the embassy?”

“No, I’m not from the embassy,” the man assured. “But I am a representative of the American Government.”

“The American government,” Killian scoffed into his rum.

“We’re still a nation,” David defended. “Perhaps smaller than before, but we still wield some power.”

“And what sort of _power_ do you wield for your government?” Killian inquired, swirling the remaining amber liquid in his glass.

“The power to help people.” David reached forward to collect a cocktail napkin from in front of Killian and murmured, “I can help you.”

“With what?” Killian offered back in a hushed tone.

David lifted his drink to his lips and took a large swig before setting the glass down on the newly acquired cocktail napkin. “A new life.”

Blood thundered in Killian’s ears as his pulse skyrocketed. “I beg your pardon?”

“I could have you on a plane to Honolulu by this time tomorrow. You’d never have to go back to Camelot again.”

“In exchange for what?”

“You get to tell your story in your own words. You write it, and we will publish it.”

Killian sucked in a deep breath to try and keep his tone even. “I didn’t exactly pack for the beach, mate.” David’s brows furrowed. “I think I’d much prefer the northern climate.”

“You want to stay in Canada,” he deduced with a pensive expression. “I suppose that could be arranged, but the Canadians will want something in return.”

“As will I,” Killian stated with a sharp edge to his tone.

David leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “More than a fresh start and a better life?”

“So far, all you’ve offered me is treason and coconuts.”

David chuckled and gave Killian a relenting nod. “Fair enough. What will it take for Killian Jones to turn traitor?”

Killian swallowed past the bitterness that word left in his mouth. _Traitor._ Yes, he would be a traitor, but only in the eyes of those who had committed far worse betrayals than his. In the eyes that mattered, those of sea glass green and ones whose hues were yet known to him, Killian would be nothing less than a man of honor.

“There’s someone else I need to get out of Camelot,” he confessed quietly. “A woman. A Handmaid.”

David’s nostrils flared with the deep intake of breath he sucked into his lungs. “That won’t be easy,” he hedged. “Do you know her real name?”

“Emma Swan.”

The fair headed man’s brows were nearly lost to his hairline. “The Pendragon’s Handmaid?”

“Aye.”

A heavy sigh left David’s chest, and he ran a hand down his face. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Our sources tell us she’s pregnant.”

“All the more reason to get her out,” Killian argued.

“It won’t matter,” David countered, casting a pitying look at Killian. “All Camelot has to do is file a paternity claim and she’ll be forced to go back. Even if we could delay their petition, women forced to serve as Handmaids are compelled to sign away their rights to any children they bear before they’re even assigned to a Commander’s household. That gives the father all legal rights to the child, which means we would have to send Pendragon the baby once it’s born.”

Relief swept through Killian and a wide grin broke out across his face. “That won’t be an issue then,” he said with a touch of cheek. “Pendragon isn’t the father… I am.”

~/~

Emma sat in the windowsill by her bed, watching the drizzle of rain draw out a vibrancy in the world outside that could not penetrate the dull and listless corners of her soul.

Three days.

Killian had been gone three days with the Pendragons to Canada and each passing hour of his absence ate away at her more and more. She didn’t regret making him promise to defect. He had a chance to run, to escape this godforsaken place and make a new life for himself. Yes, she’d suggested that he might be able to get her and their child out if he was on the outside, but deep down she knew the chances of that were slim. The reality was, she’d most likely never see Killian again, but that logic didn’t stop her from clutching onto a small vestige of hope residing somewhere between her chest and abdomen. The same place his absence had revealed a long suppressed truth.

Someone had once told her home was the place that when you left, you just missed it. She’d run away so many times in her life, leaving foster home after home behind without ever experiencing the feelings described to her. She never realized home could actually be the one to leave you. Not until her heart began to ache from missing Killian.

He was her home. _Our home,_ she lamented to herself while rubbing her hands over the evidence of their child. For the first time in her life, Emma had found home only to send it away.

The view outside the window became blurred with more than simple raindrops on the pane, but she could still make out the black SUV as it pulled into the drive. Wiping away the tears that had collected on her lashes, Emma stood and made her way downstairs. It seemed odd that the Pendragons were back so soon, but she knew her presence would be required in the foyer to welcome them home. Perhaps they cut their visit short when Killian defected?

Anxiety crept up within her when she reached the foyer. What would his escape mean for the rest of them? She hadn’t even considered whether his betrayal to Camelot would come crashing down on their heads. Her pregnancy would protect her from any serious retribution the government might have planned for the household, but what would happen to her and the baby if the Pendragons themselves were punished for Killian’s treachery?

Before she could whip herself up into too much of a frenzy, the front door swung open revealing the Commander, Mrs. Pendragon, Felix (who had gone out to assist with their luggage), and… Killian?

Emma had no idea the human heart was capable of feeling joyous relief and utter devastation all in the same moment. Her mouth hung open and she forced herself to blink several times, expecting him to merely be a figment of her imagination that would disappear at any moment.

“Blessed day.”

She heard Granny offer the greeting and Emma followed suit, her eyes never leaving Killian’s face.

“What a wonderful homecoming,” Commander Pendragon said with a strain in his voice that belied his words.

Felix set the luggage down and took his place in the reception line on the other side of Granny. Emma’s attention moved to Mrs. Pendragon, who made a beeline towards her as soon as she crossed the threshold. Her hands covered Emma’s belly, making her tense up while Killian stepped forward and took his own place amongst the staff.

“How is our little miracle?” Mrs. Pendragon asked reverently, cradling the baby bump in her hands.

“Fine,” Emma croaked. “Everything is fine.”

The Commander placed a hand alongside his wife’s and Emma had to force herself to not step back, away from their touch. In her periphery, she saw Killian change his stance beside her. His hands released from behind his back and came to rest at his sides, his pinky brushing against hers as he flexed his fingers. That small, tender action was enough to release some of the pressure that had built up within her chest, and she gave in to the compulsion to gently graze his hand with the flex of her own.

“I trust you had no issues while we were gone,” the Commander inquired to Felix.

“No, sir,” the Guardian replied. “I’ll have a full report for you later this afternoon, but things have been quiet here.”

The Commander nodded, a look of relief sweeping over his features that had Emma wondering, “You’re back sooner than we’d expected. Did everything go well in Canada?”

The Commander and Mrs. Pendragon exchanged a brief, hard glance with one another as Killian resumed the stiff posture of his station. The loss of contact, both from Killian and the Pendragons as they finally pulled away, left her with a strange mix of sorrow and relief.

“Canada was… not as successful as we’d hoped it would be,” the Commander offered gruffly before clearing his throat. “Which means I have quite a bit of work to see to. Felix, if you would be good enough to take the luggage upstairs for Mrs. Pendragon.” The Guardian nodded and began to carry out the Commander’s request, following Mrs. Pendragon up the stairs after she excused herself. “I’ll be in my office,” the Commander informed. “Get some rest, Killian. I’ll likely have need of you later.”

“Yes, sir,” Killian responded dutifully, even as he remained where he stood.

Emma could sense his desire to stay by her side. It matched the longing she felt reaching for him from the innermost parts of herself.

“Ofarthur, why don’t you go with Killian and collect his laundry so he doesn’t have to come back to the main house after he unpacks,” Granny prompted, shooting them both a knowing look.

Emma’s eyes flicked up to where Felix and Mrs. Pendragon were still ascending the stairs, the young Guardian’s gaze fixed on their small assembly with narrowed speculation.

“Aye, that would be grand,” Killian chimed in, seemingly oblivious to Felix’s scrutiny. “Shall we?”

Killian stepped aside and swept an arm out, indicating that she should go ahead of him. Something that was very much taboo within Camelot’s customs. Women were never permitted to lead. The only time they were allowed to walk in front of a man was when their Guardian _escorted_ them, so the soldier could keep their charge within their full view.

“After you,” she replied quietly with her head bent down in a position of submission, only moving when Killian picked up his duffle bag and began heading towards the backdoor.

The moment Killian’s door was closed behind them his bag was dropped to the floor so he could pull her into his arms. One hand fisted the back of her dress while the other kneaded the muscles at the base of her neck, his lips warm and supple against hers, making her melt against him. Once air became a necessity for them both, their foreheads rested against each other, neither wishing to move from the other’s embrace as they drew in mingled breaths.

“What happened in Canada?” Emma asked, reluctant to taint the moment, but all too aware that they had limited time where they could talk freely.

“Metaphorically speaking,” Killian murmured. “Things went _boom_.”

“What?”

Killian’s chest heaved with a heavy sigh. He led her over to sit on the edge of the bed and began to tell her of the encounter he had with a man named David Nolan in the hotel bar.

“Once he learned that I was the father, he said he’d make some calls to see what could be done to get you out,” Killian said. “I told him I wouldn’t agree to divulging anything that could come back to hurt you while you were still trapped here. After a few more drinks and half a dozen calls, he assured me that if I defected they could put a plan in place to get you out.”

“Then why are you here?” she exclaimed. “I mean… I won’t deny that a part of me is ecstatic to have you back, but you promised me you would-”

“I know, Emma,” he cut in softly. “And I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t struggle with the idea of leaving you behind.” He covered her hand with his and squeezed gently. “In all honesty, even after David arranged for us to meet this afternoon so he could take me straight to the safe house they were getting ready for me, I wasn’t completely sure I was going to do it. I won’t deny I was relieved when we were all forced to leave the country this morning, which meant I didn’t have to keep or break my promise to you.”

“Forced to leave? Why were you forced to leave?”

“Last night, someone posted a collection of letters online. Letters that had somehow gotten smuggled out of Camelot, written by women… like you. Handmaids.”

Emma gasped and her mouth fell open. Letters? _Written_ letters? From Handmaids? The audaciousness of such an action from courageous women willing to risk their very lives in order to declare their truth forced pools of solidarity to well up in her eyes.

“It created a firestorm,” Killian continued. “We were met by officials in the lobby of the hotel this morning, informing us we were no longer welcome in Canada and were to be escorted to the airport immediately. Protesters awaited us outside the hotel and at the airport. I considered announcing my wish to defect, but given the circumstances I wasn’t sure my request for asylum would be granted by the officials present. I couldn’t risk them denying me and putting me on a plane back to Camelot after publicly declaring my intentions.”

“So, that’s it then,” Emma stated hollowly. “Our one chance… _your_ one chance to be free of this place.” She forced herself to swallow the rest of her words and the resentment that formed them.

The world knew now. Knew what a hellscape Camelot truly was. Sure, the timing of that revelation meant Killian was robbed of his chance to be free, but those letters reaching the masses had provided a greater freedom to the women she knew had feared they’d been forgotten. The freedom of being heard, of having a voice. She couldn’t truly bring herself to be angry about that.

“At least the truth is out there now, for everyone to see,” she remarked quietly. “Even if it does mean we lost the hope of being free of this place.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that, love.”

Emma’s head snapped up, and she met Killian’s eyes, dancing with a mischievous glint. “What do you mean?”

“When we were getting out of the car at the airport, I spotted David in the crowd of protesters. We shared a glance with one another. A look of understanding.” His brows furrowed as if he was still trying to make sense of the moment while divulging it to her. “I think… I _hope_ it means our agreement still stands. That he isn’t going to give up trying to get me, get _us_ out of here.”

Despite her usual inclinations and tendencies towards pragmatism, Emma couldn’t help the promising feeling soaring up within her. “Do you really think there’s a plan to get us out?”

“Aye, love. I do,” Killian insisted, placing a hand over her belly. “I told you I would never stop fighting for us, and that’s a promise I intend to keep, with or without David Nolan’s help.”

Their lips met, sealing his vow with a kiss that quickly became something more heated and filled with other sorts of promise. Killian gently began to press her down towards the bed when Emma pulled away.

“We can’t.” Closing her eyes, she swept her tongue over her lips, the taste of him lingering there nearly crumpled her resolve. “I’m sure Felix is aware how long I’ve been up here already, no doubt making note of it to pass along to his Commander.”

When her eyes opened she was met by a hard expression on Killian’s face.

“He hasn’t been here has he? Oz?”

“No,” Emma assured him. “But Felix has been watching my every move while you’ve been gone.”

She stood and began making her way to his discarded duffle bag, set on collecting his laundry as Granny had instructed and leaving before temptation enticed them to throw all caution to the winds.

“Then I’ll come to you later,” he promised, his words sending a shiver of anticipation over her body; something she had to fight against before it could root itself within her core.

“It’s too risky,” she argued. “At least while Felix is still here.” She turned back to him, her arms full of his clothes, the scent of which did nothing to alleviate the desire she felt rushing through her veins. “I’m sure, now that you’re back, he’ll go back to his post at the Oz house soon. We just have to be patient until then.”

It was taking every ounce of discipline he possessed to remain on the other side of the room, that much was obvious. He nodded, heeding her words, but the look in his eyes nearly convinced her to drop the clothes she’d gathered so they could add her own to the pile.

“I’ll see that Granny gets these,” she said with a strained tone. “Try and get some rest.”

“As you wish.”

~/~

Pain ripped through Emma’s abdomen, wrenching her from the peaceful sleep and idyllic dream she’d been having. She and Killian had been walking along a beach, their child toddling between them, fingers gripped by the chubby fists of their daughter’s hands. The sun kissed their skin while the cool waves of the surf lapped over their feet. Sounds of laughter carried off to sea by the winds that ruffled their hair, peace and tranquility filling them as they breathed in the salty sea air and looked out towards the promises of the horizon.

A groan of anguish was muffled by her pillow. Emma drew her legs up, attempting to pull her knees as close to her body as she could, though her full term belly prevented her from achieving the position she desired.

Was it labor pains? Aunt Cora had told her on her last visit that the baby could come at any time, but this didn’t feel at all like it had the first time she’d given birth. Or perhaps she was simply in denial? Because the baby couldn’t be coming _now._ Not today of all days.

Not the day, a week after Killian had received a mysterious note simply stating, _Be ready_ , then had been informed by Commander Pendgraon he’d be honored among other Guardians at a ceremony the entire household was expected to attend. A ceremony Killian suspected might be used as a diversion to smuggle them both out of Camelot.

Weeks had turned to months after Killian returned from Canada. Each passing day brought them closer to their child’s arrival and Emma’s impending removal from the Pendragon household. Time was running out, but as long as she didn’t go into labor the opportunity for escape still remained.

So, she _couldn’t_ be going into labor now. She just couldn’t.

Peeling back the covers revealed a more terrifying proposition. If she wasn’t going into labor, then the blood staining her nightgown made the situation all the more urgent.

“Ofarthur?” Granny’s voice filtered in softly from behind the door. “Are you up?”

Emma frantically pulled the covers back over herself, hiding the alarming evidence that everything was not entirely _blessed_ this day.

“Yes,” she called out in a voice that sounded too chipper in her ears while she grit her teeth through another stab of pain.

“I have breakfast ready for you downstairs,” the Martha told her through the door. “Try to hurry, we’ll be leaving for the ceremony within the hour.”

“I’ll be right down.”

Emma focused on her breathing, riding out the vice grip squeezing her abdomen as Granny’s footsteps retreated back down the stairs. Gingerly she made her way from the bed to the bathroom, assessing the damage and drafting a plan that would allow her to hide the blood long enough to get to the ceremony. She knew the risk she was taking with her silence, knew that something might be seriously wrong and by concealing it she’d be endangering her child, but… what other choice did she have? Wasn’t there a greater danger in staying? The peril her child would face, being raised in a society that would consider her as less than if she were a girl and expendable to the cause if a boy, outweighed the fear she felt at the prospect of losing them altogether. Perhaps that made her a terrible mother, but her decision wasn’t one made up of callous calculations, it was enumerated in hope.

“Hang in there, little one,” she cooed at her belly while meticulously folding a length of toilet paper to act as a sanitary napkin. With luck it would soak up any blood that might continue to flow from her. Her Handmaid’s dress might be red, but even it wouldn’t be able to camouflage this type of bleeding.

As if in answer to her unspoken prayer, Emma experienced no more contractions while she got ready then made her way to the ceremony with the other Handmaids. Her nerves were on high alert as she sat in the bleacher stands, her senses on overdrive as she looked for any clues that might confirm this to be the day of her deliverance.

Two lines of darkly dressed men filed into the room and Emma’s eyes immediately connected with the blue of Killian’s. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him. Even knowing how he despised his Guardian uniform every bit as much as she did her Handmaid’s dress, she couldn’t help the appreciative thoughts of how handsome he looked flitting through her mind as he stood at attention. It was no great sacrifice to tune out the words of Commander Oz, who was officiating the ceremony honoring the Guardians, in pursuit of drinking in those attributes she found herself thirsting for in _her_ Guardian. Especially when doing so took her mind off of the worry she continued to feel pooling between her thighs.

Emma had just finished appreciating the stubborn wisps of hair she adored at the back of his neck that refused to be tamed when something in Commander Oz’s words snapped her focus back to the ritual at hand.

“We salute our valiant Guardians for their victories on the field of battle and in the halls of our Republic.”

Young boys began making their way down the formation of men, handing out small boxes to the Guardians. Were they receiving a medal?

“We praise your service,” Oz continued, “and reward your sacrifice.”

Like many of the others, Killian opened the box and the change in his bearing was immediate. His gaze shot up to her, his face draining of all expression and color as Oz droned on.

“And the Lord God said, it is not good that man should be alone. I will make a helpmate for him.” Murmurs erupted throughout the room as women, all heavily veiled and dressed in white, were escorted into the room, each taking a place in front of a Guardian. “And the rib which the Lord God had taken from man, made He a woman and brought her unto the man.”

Emma felt the room begin to spin, a vacuum forming around her, depriving her of oxygen until she could no longer draw breath.

“Unto the woman He said, thy desire shall be to thy husband and he shall rule over you. Men of God, do you accept this sacred duty?”

A chorus of deep _I dos_ rumbled through the air, including Killian’s, evidenced by the reluctant movement of his lips.

“As a token of this vow you shall give and receive a ring.”

The contents of the boxes were now made known to the assembly as gold bands were removed from their velvet linings and slipped over slender fingers before the Guardians placed one upon their own.

“And the Lord God said, the two shall become one flesh.” Emma’s skin crawled at the way the word slithered off the Commander’s tongue. “Be fruitful and multiply. Replenish the earth.”

Hot tears stung Emma’s eyes as Oz pronounced them all man and wife. More curious and astounded utterings swept through the crowd as the veils were lifted revealing not women, but young girls who couldn’t have been more than teenagers. Killian flicked a dazed look once more up into the stands, but Emma couldn’t hold their imploring gaze. Skirts rustled and boots scuffed when the _happy couples_ were presented, a round of applause thundering from the congregation that Emma couldn’t quite make her hands partake in as the processional made its way out of the room.

She had no memory of walking back to the red vans that transported the Handmaid’s to their various residences. Could scarcely remember the toasts given by the Commander and Mrs. Pendragon to the newly _married_ couple before she, Granny, and Felix (who had never returned to Oz’s service, the Commander explaining the need for additional security now that their household was about to increase) were dismissed from the dining room. Numbness had fully taken root when a shell shocked Killian appeared in the kitchen moments after Mrs. Pendragon had passed through with his young bride in order to assist in preparing for her wedding night.

“I can’t do this. I _won’t_ do this,” he bit out in disgust, running a hand down his face and over the ginger tinted scruff at his jaw.

“What?”

“Consummate this farce of a marriage,” he hissed under his breath. Even if his ire had been directed at her, she was too far withdrawn into herself to pick up on it.

“You have to.”

“Christ, Emma. She’s fifteen.”

“And your wife.”

“She’s _not_ my wife.”

“According to Camelot law she is.”

“A wife I didn’t ask for… or want,” he countered. ”How can you be so calm about this? What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

Her attempt to turn away was thwarted by his hand darting out and taking her by the elbow. “Emma, talk to me. Please, don’t shut me out. You have to know that I didn’t want this?”

“What?” she snapped, wrenching her arm from his grasp. His words and concern caused the fear and despair she’d been trying to push down all day to erupt with a force of fury she knew he didn’t deserve. “You didn’t want to have your future decided for you? Didn’t want some corrupt, sadistic bureaucrat to decide who has the right to your bed and your body? Well, boo-fucking-hoo, Killian.”

“That isn’t fair,” he replied on a shocked exhale.

“Yeah, well. Nothing about this place is fair. It isn’t about fair, it’s about surviving, and to do that you’re going to have to go up there and _do your duty_ or else she might cause trouble.”

“She’s a child,” Killian scoffed. “What sort of trouble could she cause?”

“You are _not_ this naive,” she chided. “You’re a fucking _Eye_. You should know better than anyone that assignments don’t happen at random. For all you know she’s here so she can report on you.”

That seemed to give Killian pause. “Report on me to whom?”

“I don’t know.” Emma shrugged. “Pendragon? Maybe he’s concerned about your loyalties? Worried that when the baby,” the word tripped and fell flat against her tongue. She shoved away the image of the blood soaked underwear she’d had to change out of when she got home, and the reminder that she hadn’t felt the baby move since the ceremony. “Maybe he thinks he can keep you loyal by issuing you a wife with the possibility of starting a family of your own.”

“You’re my family, Emma. You and the babe,” he insisted. “I want no one else.”

“For fuck’s sake, Killian. I know it’s abhorrent, even if she wasn’t only fifteen, but it isn’t like you haven’t slept with someone in order to save your own skin before. Why is this time any different?”

A dejected sounding huff fell from Killian’s chest. “Don’t you know, Emma?” His Adam’s apple bobbed and he brought his hands up to cup her face. “Because I love you.”

All Emma could do was stare up at him as his eyes searched hers for any hint of response. She didn’t have any breath with which to respond. It had been stolen from her by the power of his words and the fresh swell of pain gripping her lower abdomen.

“Killian, the Commander is finished with his phone call,” Granny announced from the doorway. “Says you can join him for that drink now.”

Emma was grateful for Granny’s return in that moment. One, because it pulled Killian’s usually perceptive focus away from her, and two, allowed her a moment to try and catch her breath.

“Aye, thank you, Granny,” Killian said before giving her his full attention once more. Attention that caused his brows to knit together in concern. “Are you alright, love? You’ve gone as white as a fresh sail.”

“I’m fine,” she replied without much strength behind her words. “Just a little dizzy. I-I think I should go lie down.”

“I didn’t mean for my words to upset you, Emma. I just-”

Emma pressed her fingers against his lips, her eyes stinging at the idea that he could ever think such words would upset her. ”You didn’t, but...” Her fingers grazed a light path from his lips along his jaw line until his cheek nuzzled within her palm. “We have to face the fact that our time is up.” Tears fell in tandem down each of their cheeks, both fully aware of the truth in her words. “I’m going to be leaving here in a matter of days, and I have to know that you’ll be okay after I’m gone. I can’t… I can’t lose you too, so I need you to promise me that you won’t give them any reason to question your loyalties. And this time… I need you to keep your word.”

The muscle in his jaw tightened under her hand, but he was saved from having to make that promise by another insistent reminder that the Commander was waiting.

Killian removed his face from her hand and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Go get some rest, love,” he murmured before exiting the kitchen without a backward glance.

Another aching crescendo rolled over her as she made her way up the stairs to her room. This one wasn’t nearly as debilitating as the one before it, or those from early that morning, and the lack of spotting on her clothes made her wonder if it wasn’t just the stress of it all that had caused the earlier panic. Perhaps all she needed was a nice soak in the tub to relax the tensions she’d been holding onto.

Emma slipped into the warm bath, settled herself into a comfortable position, and closed her eyes. It was time to stop fooling herself. Part of the strain she’d been carrying had come from the hope and expectation of escape. The urgency for that liberation to come before the baby was born had obviously not done her any favors. She had to face the inevitable fact that her baby would be born here in Camelot. She’d be forced to hand it over into the custody of monsters, leave behind the man she loved - and who she now knew loved her - and live with the fact that they would make a new family for themselves while she continued to serve as nothing more than a broodmare for a new Commander.

At least they'd be alive. She could endure anything knowing they were alive, because as long as they were alive there was hope. She just had to hold onto that.

Difficult to do when she opened her eyes and found herself reclining in water tinted a deep crimson, confirming that she may very well have lost the two most important people in the world to her on the very same day.

~/~

Killian accepted the glass of whiskey offered to him by his Commander and tried to keep his attention on the man’s words. Not an easy feat given how distracted he was by Emma’s behaviour earlier. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. She could lie to everyone else, even to herself, but not to him.

He knew she had to be as heartbroken as he was. He’d been expecting a rescue that day, but instead, he’d never felt more trapped. His conscience warred over the prospect of having to bed a fifteen year old girl, to say nothing of the betrayal it would mean to his heart.

“A good woman will lift you up,” the Commander stated, taking his seat in the leather chair across from Killian then toasting, “To good women”

“To good women,” Killian echoed hollowly before taking a long sip and letting the liquor burn away the myriad of emotions building at the back of his throat.

“You’re on your way now, son,” Pendragon praised. “I doubted whether Commander Oz could arrange your inclusion in the ceremony with such short notice. Had to pull a few strings from what I hear.”

“Commander Oz?”

“Yes.” Pendragon swirled his whiskey around his glass and pointedly said, “Walsh has taken quite an interest in my household as of late. At first I thought he meant to recruit you away from us, into his own household as he plans to do with Ofarthur, but now it appears his aspirations for you are much higher.”

“Why me?”

Pendragon shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat. “Camelot values the _family_ and rewards those capable of living by those values.”

The man had just spoken volumes, alluding to the fact that Oz was well aware it was Killian who had fathered Emma’s baby, not his Commander. Though he couldn’t be sure what angle Oz was playing, it was clear that Pendragon felt threatened. Children meant power. The more a man could procreate, the more valuable he was in Camelot’s estimations. The fact that Killian could father a child and Pendragon couldn’t shifted the balance of power, and for whatever reason, Oz wanted both men aware of that shift.

“By God’s grace, He’ll one day bless you with a child of your own,” Pendragon expressed with a hint of challenge behind his words. Staking his claim once more on the child Camelot would give him every right to call his own, regardless of true parentage.

“By God’s grace,” Killian parroted back, raising his glass in mock salute before knocking back the remaining liquid and standing to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, Commander.”

“Of course.” The man responded by finishing his own drink then escorting Killian to his office door. “You don’t want to keep your bride waiting.”

Revulsion churned in Killian’s gut as he exited the Commander’s office, a fresh resolve settling over him that he would find a way around the expectations of his wedding night.

Rain poured from the dark sky above, and his breath clung to the air in a soft puff of vapor as he flipped up the collar of his jacket. Eyes trained on the light softly emanating from his quarters over the garage, he nearly missed the glimpse of white that flashed in his periphery when he turned the corner towards the back steps. Moving towards the peculiarity, he noted a smear of something dark being washed away by the rains. Another step revealed the white to be that of a nightgown, soaked through from both the wetness of the downpour and blood seeping through from the body beneath.

“No!” Killian exclaimed when full recognition of who it was he was seeing bleeding out in the back gardens hit him. “Emma! No, no, no! Help!” he screamed, gathering her limp form into his arms. “Emma, love. Open your eyes! Can you hear me! Someone help me!” he cried out again, this time hearing urgent voices in response. “Emma, love, stay with me,” he choked out. “Please, my loves. Don’t leave me.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

Killian entered his small apartment above the garage, thankful that Wendy, _his wife_ , was occupied in the main house with preparations for the next day’s arrival.

They were coming home.

Emma and their daughter were returning from the hospital the next morning, and Killian was beside himself.

He hadn’t seen either of them since that terrible night five days prior when he’d found Emma bleeding from labor complications in the back garden. Had yet to clap eyes on his daughter, and had to learn the news that Emma had delivered them a little girl in a room full of Commanders and their wives who’d come to offer support to the Pendragons in _their_ time of crisis. A crisis that had turned into a celebration when it was announced the baby had been delivered alive and healthy.

Killian had been relieved to hear that news, but was also desperate to know how Emma had fared. It seemed he’d been alone in that concern as it was another hour before he finally caught sight of Aunt Cora and took the risk of approaching her about _Ofarthur’s_ condition. His knees had nearly given out when he’d been told she still hadn’t regained consciousness from the emergency cesarean hours before, and had received two blood transfusions. Aunt Cora _had_ assured him that should she pull through, Ofarthur would still be able to conceive, therefore able to fulfill her purpose as a Handmaid, and wasn’t _that_ a blessing.

Killian had never been tempted to strike a woman before, but he nearly made an exception for the Aunt.

Mrs. Pendragon had insisted on staying at the hospital with _her_ baby, so he’d been forced to leave in order to drive the Commander back to the house. Greeted by the brand new wife he’d completely forgotten about, he’d made up some excuse for returning to the main house and had slept in Emma’s room, wanting to be close to her in some way as he wept and prayed for her to recover.

The next morning, he’d taken the Commander back to the hospital and learned Emma had awoken overnight. He wasn’t permitted in the Maternity Ward, and had to bribe a number of hospital staff to get information about Emma and his baby girl. It had been decided that Handmaid and child would remain in the hospital together until the former was well enough to be discharged back into the Pendragon’s care. Commander Oz had made an appearance on day three, requesting she be released to his household when the time came, since it was to be her next posting, but Aunt Cora had flat refused him. Citing the fact that the Handmaid would not be fit for service for several weeks, if not a few months, and that time was better spent as wet nurse for the child she’d just delivered.

Killian was thankful he’d refrained from hitting her.

Now he’d just learned that mother and child - or rather, Mrs. Pendragon and _his_ daughter - would be arriving back home the next morning, with Ofarthur. Wendy had been enlisted by Granny to make sure everything was perfect for their homecoming, and Killian had excused himself for some much needed solitude to get his emotions in check. Emotions he wasn’t even sure he could catalogue, much less command, given the vast spectrum they stretched over his soul.

He paced the length of the room while thoughts and harsh reminders bombarded him. _You can’t react when you see them. Do what you must to keep your expression neutral. They won’t permit you to hold her, so don’t bother asking. They’ll probably let Wendy, though. Wendy. Bloody hell, what am I going to do about Wendy?_

Killian had managed to avoid sharing a bed with his wife since their wedding by insisting on staying at the main house in case the Commander needed to be driven to the hospital in the middle of the night. Wendy had seemed to understand and accept that excuse, but once the baby was home he’d no longer have a way to circumvent his duties as a husband. 

Casting a quick look towards his bed caused revulsion to roll in his gut, forcing him to seek a brisk, cleansing breath from outside. Bent over the handrail of the small landing, Killian forced several breaths into his lungs with his hands braced against the cold iron. A soft rustle off to the right of the drive drew his attention and it took his mind a moment to comprehend what his eyes were seeing. 

Wendy. His wife. In the embrace of another, whose identity was shrouded by the shadows of the hedges they found themselves cloistered in.

A shocked but gladdened noise escaped him and the two lovers broke apart from the sound that carried across the driveway. Wendy’s eyes turned up towards the apartment and went wide with fear when she saw him standing there looking on. She hastily said something to her beau before frantically following after Killian who had already turned to go back inside. He had only a moment to reconcile the answer to prayer he’d witnessed when Wendy burst into the apartment and knelt before him.

“Please, forgive me, for I know not what I do. I’ve sinned against you and God, and I beg for mercy.”

Killian waved her off and tried to get her to stand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If we confess our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us,” she continued on, undeterred by his insistence her words were not necessary, “and to cleanse us of all unrighteousness.”

She turned her eyes up to his, which were peering down at her with an expression of ‘are you finished?’ on his brow. Her own brows pinched together. “Don’t you care? Why don’t you care?”

“Wendy, love,” Killian consoled. “It’s okay. You’re not in trouble.”

“But… I’m your wife. You just caught me cheating on you. You should care.”

Killian let out an exasperated sigh and sat down on the edge of his bed. “Do you want me to report you?” She vigorously shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes at the thought of what it would mean. “Then what do you want?”

“I…”

It pained him to watch her parse through her thoughts. Weighing each one against the consequences it could bring. 

“Wendy,” Killian soothed once more, patting the spot next to him on the bed as invitation for her to join him. “You can be honest with me. Do you… Do you _want_ to be my wife?”

The young girl’s gaze fell to the floor and her head tentatively moved from side to side. “No,” she confessed almost inaudibly, her words catching on the sob stuck in the back of her throat. “I don’t want to be married to you or lie with you. I don’t want to have your children. I’m sorry.”

“Bloody hell, lass. You don’t have to be sorry.”

The floodgates opened and Killian found himself with his young bride in his arms, releasing tears she must have been holding back for days into his shirt. Rubbing circles over her back, he did his best to comfort her until the last of her emotions were spent. She gave him a small, shy smile when she pulled away, wiping the last vestiges of her outpouring from her face.

“So, what do we do?” she asked.

“For now, we keep up appearances,” he told her. “But I assure you, I won’t touch you. I have no more desire for you than you do for me.” Her cheeks flamed at his words and relief bloomed within her eyes. “You have to be more careful with your gentleman friend, though,” he warned. “Granny and Emma will turn a blind eye to him, but you’re not likely to get the same response from Felix, the Pendragons, or anyone else in Camelot.”

“Emma?”

“Uh, I mean… Ofarthur,” he corrected, instinctively bringing his hand up to scratch behind his ear.

“The Handmaid?” Wendy clarified, then tilted her head to take in the fresh heat flaring from his neck to the tips of his ears. “You like her, don’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he deflected, standing from the bed and making his way to the kitchenette.

“You do!” She stood and chased him into the small space, a knowing smile pulling at her lips.

“Wendy, listen to me very carefully,” he urged, his tone sobering her jovial mood. “I would never get involved with a Handmaid any more than you would with another man. It would be suicide. Do you understand?”

Her eyes flickered between his, reading everything he was silently trying to communicate to her until she gave him a brusque nod. “I understand.”

“Good, lass,” he said, giving her a tender smile. “Now, you best get back to helping Granny. I want everything perfect for my daughter’s arrival tomorrow,” he threw out with a wink.

~/~

Emma winced as she climbed the stairs at the front of the house, assisted by Aunt Cora. Mrs. Pendragon had brought the baby home in the family’s private car, while Emma was transported in the red van. She hadn’t seen her daughter in two days, had missed seeing Killian’s expression in finally being able to lay eyes on her (since he was the one most likely driving her back to the Pendragon house), and she didn’t think it likely she’d get to spend any sort of quality time with either of them now that she was back.

“Here we are, dear,” Aunt Cora said as she helped ease Emma down onto her bed once they reached her room. “I see the breast pump has already been delivered and set up. I’ll check in with your Martha about its upkeep before I leave.”

Not being one to get overly fussy about her girls, Aunt Cora didn’t linger too much longer before leaving Emma to her own devices. She had no idea how long she’d sat there on the edge of her bed before a telltale creak in the hallway pulled her attention. Gingerly, she stood to her feet and started taking tentative steps towards the man who was approaching her with the same trepidation. When she wrapped her arms around his waist, he didn’t hesitate to reciprocate, pulling her tightly against him while being mindful of her still healing condition.

“You scared the bloody hell out of me,” he murmured into her hair.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

The two held one another for long moments. Their heartbeats synchronized, their breaths flowed in equal cadence, both sets of eyes fluttered closed as they focused on the feel of the other in their arms. Emma knew it wouldn’t be long before Granny made her way up to check on her and remind her to pump. As if the increasing pressure in her breasts wasn’t reminder enough. Reluctantly, she pulled back, but not entirely out of his embrace.

“Have you… did you get to see her?”

“Aye,” Killian replied with awe filling his voice and shining from his forget-me-not eyes. “She’s beautiful, Emma. _So_ beautiful. I wish…” his jaw tightened and eyes flicked to the side before meeting hers once more. “I wish I could hold her.”

“Me, too,” Emma replied with a pained whisper that had Killian cocking his head to the side in confusion. “Mrs. Pendragon removed her from my room two days ago,” she explained. “After she insisted on having a room of her own, so she could be nearer to _her child._ I haven’t been allowed to nurse her. They’re forcing me to pump, saying it’ll be better that she becomes accustomed to a bottle since I won’t be staying until she’s weaned.”

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian lamented. “But at least they let you come back here for now.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as a stricken look passed over his face. “I hated to think those things we said the other night would be the last words we ever spoke to one another.”

Emma reached up and caressed his face, a soft but sad smile pulling at her lips at the way he naturally nuzzled into her palm. “I’m sorry for the things I said.” Her eyes flicked downward then briefly closed while she fortified herself to admit, “But mostly I’m sorry about the thing I didn’t say.” Her gaze returned to his, a hopeful expectation swirling in the blues of his irises. “I love you, too.”

Killian beamed before he leaned down to capture her lips, drawing her back into his arms as they each poured out all the love they’d been holding back. 

“I love you,” he murmured into her skin, when his kisses drifted to her jaw and down to her neck. “I love you so much, Emma. You and our daughter. So bloody much, I can hardly breathe.”

“Hope,” Emma exhaled, grabbing his face and coaxing him to look at her. “I want to name her Hope. As a promise. A promise that we’ll never stop trying to free her from this place.”

“Hope,” Killian echoed. “Aye, love. It sounds right.” He nodded, his eyes crinkling at their corners from the smile the name put on his face. “Hope Jones.”

“Speaking of Jones,” Emma began before pulling her lip between her teeth. She didn’t want to spoil the moment, but the wondering had been eating her up inside. “How is Mrs. Jones?”

“As pure and untouched as the day I married her,” he assured her with an understanding look in his eyes. “At least by me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It seems my darling wife already had a fellow. I caught them together, snogging in the bushes by the drive last night.” Emma’s mouth fell open at the news. “I’ve spent every night of my marriage here, in your room, and now that you’re back I’ll either keep coming here to be with you or sleep on my sofa.”

“So, she knows about us?”

“Aye. But I believe her to be an ally, like Granny. She won’t say anything.”

“And even if she did, you have her adultery to use against her,” Emma said, supplying the threat they both knew he could hold over her. “But I know you’d never actually blackmail her like that, or make good on it.”

“No,” he agreed with her, shaking his head. “I could never live with myself if I did.”

Emma brushed her thumb over his cheek and smiled lovingly up at his face. “I know. That’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”

~/~

Killian practically sprinted up the back steps to the main house, eagerness thrumming through every nerve ending in his body. The Commander and Mrs. Pendragon were attending an official Republic Dinner, one he assumed he’d have to stay for, in order to guard over the assembly of District Commanders and their wives. When the Guardian in charge had finished assigning duties and realized he had a surplus, he’d dismissed those who’d remained to go back to their normal posts and await the call to come back and collect their Commanders. With the Commander, Mrs. Pendragon, and Felix (who had been tasked to stay) away for the entirety of the evening, this would be Killian’s first chance to spend time with his daughter. To hold his little girl in his arms and introduce himself to her as her father.

When he reached the nursery, he was not at all surprised to see Emma already inside with a pink blanketed bundle in her arms. Her gaze lifted from their daughter’s face to his; a question resided between her brows even as a smile spread over her lips.

“They didn’t need me,” he explained softly, rooted where he stood just inside the doorway, wanting to cement this moment into his memory. 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Granny’s gruff voice admonished from where she appeared next to him. “Go meet your daughter.”

Killian shot the woman a half hearted and teasing scowl, before winking his thanks to her and making his way fully into the room. The nursery doors closed softly behind him, and Killian held his breath in anticipation as his steps brought him closer to his family. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his daughter’s angelic face, and the caught breath released itself in a series of awestruck stutters.

“Here.” Emma gently held out their daughter to him and helped secure her in his arms. “Hope,” she whispered softly, placing her hand over the babe’s chest, “this is your daddy.”

She was a wisp of a thing, weighing practically nothing in his arms, yet the magnitude that settled over him in that moment was like nothing he’d ever felt before. 

“Hello there, my little love,” he cooed softly.

Hope wiggled and squeaked out a small noise, scrunching her face in the same manner her mother did whenever Killian tried to rouse her before she was truly ready to wake. Emma’s lips grazed against his cheek, then he felt her breath on his ear.

“Look at what we made, Killian.”

His heart was fit to burst from looking. “Aye, love. I’d say we make quite the team.”

Emma released a light laugh and steered him towards the small settee in the middle of the room so they could both sit. He laid Hope in his lap with her head at his knees and her feet tucked against his abdomen, then he wrapped an arm around Emma as she snuggled into his side. They sat in contented silence for the majority of the evening, watching their daughter sleep until she started to fuss, alerting all those within earshot of her discomfort and hunger. 

“I’ll change her while you go get a bottle from Granny,” Emma suggested, reaching out to pick Hope up.

“Or,” Killian proposed, “you could show me how to change her and then nurse her yourself.” Emma froze, the emotional turmoil he could see storming in her eyes paralyzing her momentarily. “It might be your only chance until we escape.” _Or until you’re forced to leave us._ He tried to squash such thoughts, but with each passing week it was harder and harder to stay positive. Especially when all of his attempts to reach out to the resistance, or find a way to contact David Nolan had led to dead ends.

Emma nodded, her silence and shimmering eyes tipping him off to the fact she’d had the exact same thought. They both shrugged off the threatening melancholy and focused on the embodiment of their joy. After a quick diaper change lesson, they found themselves back on the settee. Killian’s arm was once again wrapped around his Emma who was bringing a wide awake Hope to her breast. 

It was an ineffable moment for Killian. Words would never be able to capture the depth of feelings he experienced in witnessing such a natural, yet profound act. The way his loves stared at one another, Emma with her viridian gaze and Hope with his blue, sent an ache of pure bliss through his soul. Granny had told him that most caucasian babies were born with blue eyes, but many changed over the course of time. That fact didn’t keep him from believing his daughter would retain her signature Jones’ blues, though.

When Emma finished nursing, she passed Hope to Killian so he could burp her while she put herself back to rights. Comfortable and sated once more, Hope relaxed against her father’s shoulder and fell back to sleep while Killian softly crooned her the lullaby he remembered his mother singing to him and Liam. Assured his little Hope was out for the count, he looked over to find Emma also fast asleep against his side.

The ache in his heart swelled and he murmured out a fervent prayer. “May the Lord open the way of our escape.” Squeezing the loves of his life a little closer, he added, “Please, God. Help me get them out.”

~/~

Emma stared up at the bright white ceiling of the hospital exam room, her feet in stirrups and an equally bright white curtain separating her from the doctor examining her. In the time before, gynecological visits weren’t exactly the highlight of her year, but they were a joyous walk through a sunlit garden in comparison to those she’d experienced in Camelot. 

Aunt Cora stood dutifully beside her, awaiting the physician’s assessment of Emma’s progress six weeks after her c-section. The occasional huffs and clearings of her throat expressed her impatience at the doctor’s _thoroughness_.

“Well?” the woman said, breaking the sterile silence. “How is our girl doing? Is she ready to go back into service?”

Emma balled her hands into the sheet draped over her midsection where it pooled on either side of her thighs. Her teeth ground together at the woman’s words as her stomach churned at their meaning.

“She’s healed well enough for intercourse,” the doctor replied, removing the instruments he’d used to examine her and pulling the sheet back down to cover her lower extremities. “But until she resumes her normal period, I see no point in moving her to a new posting. You haven’t had one yet, have you honey?” The doctor’s head poked around the curtain, startling her.

“Um… no.”

“Then my recommendation would be to let her stay where she is until her cycle starts back up. No need to inconvenience a new Commander’s household until she’s ready for the Ceremony.” Emma heard the snap of latex as the man removed his gloves, then the swing of a metal lid when he deposited them in the trash can.

“Very well. I’ll just have to tell Commander Oz to be a bit more patient,” Aunt Cora groused. The doctor assisted Emma in removing her feet from the stirrups, but she remained prone on the examination table. “Get dressed, dear. I’ll have the van brought around.”

Cora left while the doctor finished typing his notes into the computer. Emma sat up and waited for him to leave so she could remove the hospital gown and put her red dress back on. The clacking of the keyboard resonated loudly in the room, competing with the calm relief Emma was trying to focus on after learning she wouldn’t be shuttled off to the Oz household for at least a few more weeks.

“Under His eye,” the doctor said.

“Under His eye,” Emma reciprocated, only vaguely aware of him as he made his way to the exit.

“Oh, and,” he paused before swinging the door open and waited until he had her attention before shocking her with, “Blessed day to you… Emma.”

~/~

Killian made his way up to Emma’s room after receiving her message from Wendy that she needed to see him _immediately_. Knowing she’d been at her six week postnatal appointment, Killian feared he already knew the urgency behind her missive. Most likely she’d been given the all clear to report to a new posting, tearing her away from him and their daughter and depositing her under the control of the vile Commander Oz. Killian steeled himself outside her door, taking in a deep breath and schooling his features. She would need him to be strong for her, for them.

Opening the door, his heart sank as he watched her pace the width of the room, hands wringing in proof of his worst fear.

“Well, my love? Why did you summon me?” He tried to keep his tone light and jovial, offering her a small smile when her head snapped towards him.

“He called me by my name,” she blurted out, rushing up to him.

Killian’s brows pinched together. “Who?”

“The doctor,” Emma clarified animatedly. “He was leaving the room and he said, _Blessed day to you… Emma_. He called me Emma. How would he know my real name? Why would he use it like that?”

Stunned, Killian thought for a moment. “I’ve heard whispers of a doctor within the resistance,” he told her. “What was his name?”

“Whale, I think?” she said with raised, uncertain brows. “Dr. Whale.”

“I’ll see what I can find out about him. If he is a part of the resistance, then it could have been a message.”

“A message? What kind of message is just knowing and saying my name?”

“Did he say anything else,” Killian pressed, bringing his hands up to gently grab the tops of her arms. “Anything that struck you as odd or unexpected?”

Emma drew her lip between her teeth, worrying it for a moment before her eyes flicked back up to his. “He recommended that I not be sent to my next posting until my cycle resumes.”

“Ensuring you’d remain here for at least a few more weeks,” Killian supplied with a soaring spirit. 

“But why?”

“Nolan,” Killian murmured, lost in a moment of thought.

“What?”

“David Nolan. The man I met in Canada,” Killian reminded. “He knows your real name and that you are the Pendragon’s handmaid. There very well might be a plan to get us out, after all. Perhaps they just need a few more weeks to pull it all together!”

“But…” Emma cautioned. “It’s been _months_ since you met him.”

“Aye. But we mustn’t lose hope,” he encouraged her. “We made a promise.”

She exhaled in response to his words and nodded, a light smile pulling at her lips from the reminder of their daughter’s name.

“Now,” he added intently, “tell me what else the doctor said.”

Her demeanor shifted from one fraught with the tension of worry to a tension of a different sort.

“Well,” she drawled coquettishly, running her hands up his chest. “He did say I’ve healed well enough for intercourse, and I was thinking,” her hands skimmed along his neck until her fingers could reach the wisps of hair curling out from where it had begun to grow too long across his hairline, “with Mrs. Pendragon and baby out with the other wives, and you not having to pick up the Commander for several more hours, perhaps,” she flicked her eyes up through her lashes and bit down on her lip before proposing, “we might spend the afternoon confirming his diagnosis?”

Killian hummed, as if giving her words thoughtful consideration. “For purely scientific reasons, aye love?”

“You know how much I love science,” she teased. A giggle briefly escaped her lips before being quickly cut off by his mouth descending upon hers.

Her arms tightened around his neck when he wrapped his around her waist, steering them towards her bed while trying to not land them on the floor in a hurried tangle of legs. When they reached the foot of her mattress they both worked in tandem to strip the other of their garments. Once bared before the other, Killian noted a shy and reserved posture he was unaccustomed to seeing from his Emma.

“What is it, love?” 

“It's just… you haven’t seen me naked since…” her voice trailed off and that’s when Killian noticed how she was hiding parts of herself from him. Covering her stomach with her arms crossed low over her body.

“Oh, Emma,” he soothed tenderly, drawing her in close until she was flush against him. “You are stunning, love. Never think for a moment that anything could mar your beauty in my eyes.” 

He pulled back and gently encouraged her to allow him to look upon her. His eyes grazed over the fresh scar, low on her abdomen, and took in the various stretch marks, now added to those that had already littered her body from her first pregnancy. She inhaled sharply when his fingers skimmed over her stomach, the excess flesh that hadn’t quite firmed up yet pulling away from his touch.

“Everything different about your body is a testament to the gift you’ve given me, Emma. All I see when I look at you is the woman I love and the mother of my child,” he assured her, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek. “You’re bloody gorgeous, and I’ve never wanted you more.”

Emma raised herself up and fused her lips to his. A desperate urgency swirled around them, mingling in their kiss and prompting the frenzied pursuit of their hands. When Emma began to lay back onto the bed she pulled at him to join her, but he kept the presence of mind to slow down the proceedings a bit. Dropping to his knees he grabbed behind her calves, which were hanging off the bed, and dragged her back towards him. She lifted her head to gaze down at him, but he cut off the expected protest before she could open her mouth to voice it.

“We’re going to take this slow, love,” he asserted. “I want to know you are as ready for me as you can be. I’ll not risk hurting you. So, be a good girl and lie back.” He gave her a devilish wink, and chuckled at the eye roll she gave him before complying.

Encouraging her legs a bit wider, Killian inhaled the scent of her which never failed to make his blood sing and groin throb. His mouth watered at the already glistening folds awaiting him, but he was determined to take his time. To savor her slowly and thoroughly, making her ready for him with as little risk of pain or discomfort as possible.

Her flavor soaked into his tongue as he dragged it through her sex, parted wide by his fingers. He moaned against her clit, swirling and flicking against it while his fingers gradually tested the reception of her entrance. Emma’s hips bucked when he slid a finger inside her, but she quickly relaxed around him, releasing her own set of moans as his hand and mouth worked together to bring her ever closer to the edge of abandon.

“Oh God, Killian,” Emma mewled, reaching down to take a handful of his hair. “Fuck, yes!”

The rolling of her hips against his mouth prompted him to slip in another finger and he was gratified when it didn’t seem to cause her any distress. By the time she came, her orgasm washing over his tongue and making his eyes roll back with his own measure of euphoria, he had succeeded in stretching her three fingers wide.

Sucking his fingers clean, he crawled atop the bed and observed the love of his life as she came down from her, hopefully, first high. Her flushed skin and heaving chest made his member ache to the point of discomfort, but he’d gladly take that upon himself in order to minimize hers. 

Hazy, green eyes peered up at him, and she silently beckoned him to her as she scooted back up the bed. His gaze never wavered from hers as he settled between her thighs and gently coated himself in her arousal with gentle thrusts of his hips. 

“You’ll tell me if anything hurts, and I’ll stop,” he told her with a hint of demand in his tone. 

With her reassuring nod, he slowly pushed inside, stalling halfway when he heard her gasp and felt her walls clench around him like a vice.

“Emma?”

“It’s okay,” she breathed. “I’m okay. You just… Fuck, you feel so good.”

Killian exhaled and rested his forehead against hers. “So do you, love. So do you.”

Their pace was slow, his strokes long and languid as he plundered her mouth then pillaged the valley between her breasts with hot, wet kisses. She’d hissed slightly when he captured a nipple between his teeth, the bud too tender and sore from her persistent pumping and the occasional opportunity to secretly nurse, so he made sure to avoid them… with his mouth anyway. The way they fit in his hand, a little larger, fuller, warmer than before made it so he could hardly keep his hands off of them, though he knew he had to be mindful of their increased tenderness. 

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away and braced himself against the mattress, maneuvering his hips in order to find greater purchase within her. She arched off the bed and her hands clawed at his backside, pulling him deeper inside of herself as she wrapped her legs around his middle. His breaths were mere pants at this point, the tightening in his balls alerting him to the fact he wasn’t going to last much longer. Perhaps it was hubris to think he could get her to come a second time when so much about her body had changed, but he wasn’t going to concede defeat just yet.

Drawing up onto his knees, he lifted her legs and draped them over his shoulders. While his hips snapped furiously into hers, he sucked his thumb into his mouth then reached down to rub the slickened digit over her clit. Incomprehensible noises fell from her lips, spurring him into a faster rhythm. She had to grab onto her breasts, stilling them from being violently shaken by this rougher pace he’d set. Just as he began to worry it might be too much for her, Emma’s legs began to shake and a long drawn out moan of pure decadence echoed through the room. Her walls clamped down around him, extracting every ounce of pleasure and satisfaction from him as he thoroughly spilled himself within her. Sated and out of breath, Killian collapsed beside an equally spent Emma who didn’t hesitate to snuggle into his side. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I love?”

Emma gave him a noncommittal and sleepy hum before admitting, “I’m going to be sore and walking funny later, but it was totally worth it.” 

He responded with an amused huff and tried to ward off the creeping guilt rising in his chest for being too rough with her.

“Seriously, Killian.” She rolled onto her side and propped her head up so she could look him knowingly in the eye. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Promise.”

She sealed that promise with a soft kiss then plopped back down at his side, clearly exhausted.

“Stay here and get some rest, love,” he encouraged, brushing his lips against her temple before rolling his way off the side of the bed.

He crossed to her bathroom and got a washrag to clean up with, then returned to tend to her before tucking her in for a nap. After dressing he made his way back downstairs with plans to do some work in the garage, but hushed, angry voices just outside the back door had him hovering back.

“Are you insane?” he heard Felix exclaim in a low, gruff tone. “You’re married! Peter is my best friend, and I don’t want to see him up on the wall!”

“We’re being careful,” Wendy countered back. “Nothing is going to happen. Stop worrying.”

“Stop worrying? You’re having an affair right under your husband’s, who happens to be an Eye, by the way, nose!”

“Killian already knows about Peter and me.” 

Killian swore softly under his breath. He really wished she’d hadn’t told Felix that.

“What? He knows?”

“Yes. He knows, and he’s fine with it as long as Peter and I are discreet. Neither of us actually _wants_ to be married to the other, you know.”

“I still think you’re playing with fire,” Felix warned her. “And you know my loyalty lies with Peter if it ever comes down to taking a side.”

“I know,” Wendy sighed exasperatedly, clearly done with the conversation.

Killian moved to conceal himself, so as not to be discovered eavesdropping when Wendy came back into the house. He then watched as Felix resumed his post of guarding the front gate, his expression controlled and neutral, as if nothing had happened.

“So, Felix knows about Wendy’s lover, and considers him a mate,” Killian mused deviously. “That’s very interesting indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say THANK YOU for all the kudos and comments! I'm sorry I haven't been better about replying! It doesn't mean that each and every one of them aren't appreciate, though!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has followed along and left kudos and/or comments! I hope you enjoy the conclusion!

* * *

 

Emma took her seat with the other Handmaids and scanned the expanse of the cathedral from where she sat in the upper balcony. The entire district had assembled for the momentous occasion. Some out of pure joy for those who had received their blessing, others with a root of bitterness in their hearts that their blessing had not yet arrived, and many because refusing attendance was not an option even though the entire affair made their skin crawl.

Dedicating the children of Camelot before the Lord.

Emma watched with her fists balled in her lap as Mrs. Pendragon carried Hope to the stage with the Commander close behind. Of course, they would not be dedicating her as Hope, having chosen the name Morgan for _their precious miracle_. Emma’s eyes swept through the row of darkly dressed Guardians lining the perimeter of the room until they met the forget-me-not hues already trained on her. As the minister droned on with his sermon and leading the couples through their sacred vows of parenthood, she and Killian exchanged their own silent promises over Hope. Promises Emma prayed she would be given the opportunity to uphold as she continued to beg God for the provision of their escape while tamping down the doubts the past several days had dredged up.

Days where it had become more and more apparent that Killian was keeping something from her.

Ever since she’d overheard him and Granny plotting together in the kitchens.

_“Well, of course you’re not getting anywhere with the resistance, idiot boy,” Granny admonished. “They all know you’re an Eye.”_

_“An Eye who’s having an affair with a Handmaid and fathered a child with her. You’d think that would lessen their suspicions.”_

_“It seems to have lessened your IQ.” Granny grinned at the scowl Killian shot her and chuckled affectionately. “You should have come to me sooner. I have connections within the Martha Network. I can see what they know about this David Nolan person.”_

_Killian placed a quick kiss at Granny’s cheek. “You’re a peach, love. How soon do you think it’ll be before you hear anything back?”_

_“A few weeks, maybe?”_

_“It’ll have to be sooner than that,” Emma muttered, entering the kitchen and grabbing both their attentions. “My cycle started.”_

_Killian gathered her into his arms and soothingly kissed her temple. She buried her face into his chest and could feel him exchange a desperate look with Granny. Marthas were charged with keeping track of a Handmaid’s monthly flow. They were the ones with access to the supply of sanitary napkins, forcing the Handmaids to come to them during their time and ensuring accuracy of their fertile dates for the Ceremony. Emma knew Granny would have to inform their mistress that her period had come, which meant the Red Center would be notified and Aunt Cora would begin preparations for her reassignment._

_“How long do you think we have before they move her?” Killian asked Granny._

_“A week?” The woman shrugged. “Maybe two?”_

_“Do what you can,” Killian murmured softly, squeezing Emma a bit tighter._

Nothing more had been said about their possible escape, but Emma had caught Killian on a number of occasions whispering to Granny and Wendy, and even Felix of all people, in a conspiratorial manner, only to brush off her questions when she pressed him about it. If news of an escape plan had come through the channels of the Martha Network, then why hadn’t he or Granny shared it with her? Why was he refusing to plot a back-up plan with her, but seemed willing to conspire with others? She might have begun to suspect that he’d resigned himself to the possibility no rescue was coming if it weren’t for the fervent declarations in his eyes before the service drew to a close.

“Ofarthur,” Aunt Cora chided. “We are all waiting on you, dear.”

Emma startled and got to her feet, following her fellow Handmaids out to the vans that would transport them to the Pendragon house where a reception honoring Camelot’s newest _parents_ was to be held. She tried to meet Killian’s gaze one last time before exiting, but he was once again entrenched in a conversation with Felix and paying her no mind.

~/~

“Ah! Just in time!” Commander Pendragon exclaimed as two Guardians wrangled a large package through the front door and past his guests. “In my study, please,” he directed them. “Killian, help them. Make sure they do not damage it when they hang it.”

Killian followed the struggling men into the Commander’s office, and Emma made her way inside with several others to see what the Commander’s fuss was all about. Her gasp choked at the back of her throat as the brown paper was torn away revealing a portrait of the Pendragon’s with _their daughter_ and choruses of _awws_ and _how precious_ echoed around her from other Wives and Handmaids. Killian’s jaw tightened as his eyes took in the image of their daughter swaddled in Mrs. Pendragon’s arms, and his voice was gruff while instructing the men where the frame was to be placed.

A smattering of applause sounded from those assembled once the portrait was hung, the Commander and his wife proudly poised beneath the image with little Hope gurgling in Granny’s arms beside them.

“Quite the lovely family you have there, Arthur,” Commander Oz commented as the crowd thinned with Mrs. Pendragon’s announcement that refreshments were ready in the dining room.

“God has been most generous,” Arthur replied. “May He see fit to bless you and your wife as well.”

“Indeed,” the Commander mused, staring up at the image of Hope. “I pray that when that time comes, my child will resemble its father as well as yours does.”

Commander Pendragon’s complexion soured and Emma’s eyes darted to Killian’s. A smirk ghosted over his lips, but he quickly schooled his features before either Commander could take notice. Oz turned and spotted Emma hovering by the door, so she took that moment to excuse herself in order to see what assistance she could offer Granny in the kitchens.

She managed to avoid the creepy Commander for the majority of the reception, though she felt his lecherous leer all throughout the afternoon. When Aunt Cora approached her at the conclusion of the event and pulled her aside, she knew she’d be unable to thwart his attention as he hovered close by, waiting for the Aunt to say her piece and depart.

“Ofarthur, I shall be by tomorrow after lunch to collect you and escort you to your new posting.”

“Tomorrow?” Emma’s face drained of color and her heart hammered in her chest.

“Yes, dear,” the Aunt replied short-temperedly. “Commander and Mrs. Oz are looking forward to having you as a part of their household and I know you will perform your duties with the same level of excellence as you have here. Won’t you?”

“Yes, Aunt Cora,” Emma said in a quiet and strained tone. The woman gave her a forced smile then turned to head out the door with the other Handmaids in tow.

Emma rushed into the parlor and quickly closed the pocket doors behind her while trying to keep her breathing even. Killian. She needed Killian. They had to leave. Now. They could grab the baby, take the car, and head for the border. They had to go. Had to get out. Before she was handed over to Oz and…

“I look forward to finally having you under my roof, Ofwalsh.”

Emma shuddered at Oz’s voice and swallowed back the bile rising up her throat as he made his way into the parlor.

“Don’t call me that.” The words snarled over her tongue before she could stop them, but once they were out she couldn’t bring herself to regret them.

“I’ll call you whatever I like.” He took a few menacing steps towards her, but she stood her ground, staring up at him with defiance. “You belong to me now.”

“I belong to no one.”

“Not even Guardian Jones?” the man questioned calculatingly. “The true father of Pendragon’s bastard?”

Emma was sure the entire house would hear the crack of her slap against Oz’s cheek, but her anger and the satisfactory sting in her palm left her with little concern over the matter. Shock radiated from the Commander’s face along with her handprint.

“Killian and I belong to each other, and so does our daughter,” Emma proclaimed. “We’re a family, and nothing you say or do will ever change that.”

Oz’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat. She clawed at his firm grip as he backed her up, stumbling and landing on the settee with the crazed Commander looming over her.

“It’s already been done,” Oz seethed. “You think Jones will stay loyal to you and the brat he can never claim as his own, when prestige and power awaits him and his wife once they produce a child of their own? You think he’ll be pining for you now that he’s been promoted to Commander?”

“What?” Emma squeaked out against the pressure he was still applying to her throat.

Oz sneered sickeningly. “He didn’t tell you?” Dry coughs erupted from the back of Emma’s throat when he released her, caging her in with his hands now braced against the back of the settee and leaning in within inches of her face. “Your precious Killian earned the rank of Commander two days ago. He and his little wife will be transferred to their new home within the week, after the observance of his new station has been officially witnessed by the other Commanders and their wives. Perhaps, if you’re a good girl, I’ll let you come witness it for yourself.”

Emma’s wide eyes must have betrayed the chaos of her thoughts. Killian had been made a Commander? How? Why hadn’t he said anything to her about it?

“It wasn’t difficult to push his name up the line, given his service to Camelot before the war.”

Killian had alluded to things he’d done in the service of Camelot that led to the overthrow of the government, things he carried a great amount of shame over. Like so many within it’s totalitarian grip, Killian had done what he had in order to survive the coup and rise of Camelot’s power. Emma had never faulted him for his actions, had never pressed him for details, or demanded an account of his guilt. How could she? They were all guilty. Guilty of standing by and doing nothing, of making compromise after compromise so they would not become the next cautionary tale hanging from the Wall.

“Why?” Emma demanded. “Why do you care about Killian or his career?”

“I care about furthering my own,” Oz said, swiping his tongue over his lips, making Emma’s stomach roll. “If he is the man I believe he is, then he’ll be indebted to me. It’s important to have allies.”

“You clearly know nothing about Killian,” Emma scoffed. The mere idea that he would ever feel beholden to the likes of Oz was laughable.

He shrugged and hardened his cold gaze upon her. “Then I’ll have you to help keep him in line. You, and the knowledge that the Pendragon’s child is the treasonous spawn of a Handmaid and former Guardian turned Commander. If he isn’t concerned about his own standing in Camelot, what wouldn’t he do to protect yours and your child’s?” Emma swallowed and tightened the grip her fists had on the skirt of her dress. Oz reached out and brushed a finger down Emma’s face before inquiring, “And what might you be willing to endure in order to ensure their safety in turn?”

His finger swept over her lips and Emma took the opportunity to answer him… with her teeth. Oz howled at her bite, clutching his hand when she released him. She pushed him away and sprang from the settee, but didn’t make it to the door before she felt his hand grasp her shoulder and swing her around. Stars exploded behind her eyes and she was vaguely aware of the parlor doors crashing open as she brought her hand up to soothe her throbbing cheek.

“Your driver has returned from taking Mrs. Oz home, Commander,” she heard Granny state in a clipped tone. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to keep your wife waiting when you have much to prepare for Ofarthur’s arrival tomorrow.”

Emma opened her eyes in time to see the Commander straighten himself and stalk off towards the doors which were now barred by a murderous looking Killian.

“Please let the Commander by, Guardian Jones,” Granny instructed while putting an arm around Emma’s shoulders to steady her. “He has a busy evening ahead of him.”

For whatever reason, that seemed to snap Killian out of his homicidal intentions. He moved aside, allowing Oz to pass and exit out the front door, then turned his attention to Emma and the welt radiating off her skin.

“It’s okay,” she murmured softly when he reached her. Bringing her hand up, she tried to alleviate the tension ticking in his jaw and furrowing along his brow with the caress of her fingertips. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed hard and his eyes blazed with cold rage. “He’ll never touch you again, Emma. I swear it.”

Foreboding skittered across her skin from his resolute tone and she took his face in her hands, desperation pouring from her tone. “Killian, you can’t go after Oz. You _can’t_. He’s too powerful, even if you are a Commander now, you’d never get away with it.”

Killian’s eyes fell shut and an agitated sigh expelled from his body. “He told you.”

“Yes.” Emma removed her hands from his face and dropped her head to stare at her fingers as she fidgeted with them. “Why didn’t you?”

Glancing back up at him through her lashes, Emma took in his torn expression as he clearly struggled to come up with a response, making her heart sink a bit further at the undeniable evidence that there was more he was keeping from her. His lips parted, but before he could utter a breath a voice called out from the hallway, forcing him to take a step away from her.

Mrs. Pendragon’s head poked into the parlor. “There you all are. Our guests have departed and there is cleaning that must be done,” she chastised. “Killian, Wendy was looking for you, and Granny you are needed in the kitchen to supervise. And Ofarthur,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “don’t you have some packing to do?”

Packing. Yes. She had packing to do. Because she was leaving tomorrow. A fact she hadn’t had a chance to tell Killian yet. Emma looked up to meet his eyes, but did not find the question in them she’d been expecting.

Did he already know? How could he?

“Granny, make sure she pumps. We’ll need to stock up as much as we can for Morgan,” their Mistress said before giving them all a final look of dismissal.

“Yes, Ma’am,” Granny replied, steering Emma past Killian and towards the stairs. “The pump is already set up for you,” the woman murmured into her ear. “Afterward you should get some rest. I’ll be up later to collect everything.”

Emma nodded wordlessly, her eyes following Killian as he exited the parlor and made his way to the back of the house without a backward glance.

Once all of her milk had been expressed, Emma curled onto her side in her narrow bed. From the floorboards beneath her she could hear the restless cries of her daughter drifting up from the room below. She wrapped her arms around herself, aching to feel the weight of her child in them and sobbed softly into her pillow. She couldn’t even think through her sorrow, couldn’t muster up the energy in that moment to formulate a plan, so she allowed her exhaustion to pull her under into the void of sleep instead.

~/~

The muffled blare of sirens jarred Emma from sleep as they drew closer and seemed to stop right outside the house. Lights flashed across her bedroom walls, a dance of blue and red along the backdrop of an orange glow spilling in from her window. Emma rose from her bed and padded over to peer out onto a scene she never expected to see. A raging fire was consuming one of the grand houses across the street, and a frenzy of Guardians and emergency workers scrambled to secure the scene as other sirens and ominous flickers of red and orange could be distinguished from off in the distance.

_What the hell?_

Hurried footfalls echoed from the hallway and Emma turned just in time to see Granny enter her room then reach down and grab her shoes from beside the doorway.

“We can get you out, but you have to go now,” Granny said, pulling her back from the window and placing Emma’s boots beside the bed as she sat her back down onto it. “Get your boots on and grab your cloak. I’ll meet you at the back door with Hope.”

“What?” Emma reached out to grab onto Granny’s hand, but the woman was already out of reach.

“There’s no time to explain,” she said, making her way back to the hall. “You must hurry.”

Stupefied, Emma sat on the edge of her bed for a beat before pulling on her boots. Out? As in _out_?

Grabbing her cloak, Emma hurried down the back stairs that led to the kitchen and the back entrance. Granny was already there, hovering by the door with Hope squirming slightly in her arms.

“The Mistress is already asleep,” Granny informed her. “And The Commander is on the phone, locked away in his study. With luck it’ll be hours before they realize either of you are gone.”

“What about Killian?”

Granny handed Hope over to her, along with a bag she’d had draped over her arm. “He’s outside overseeing the chaos,” she told her. Her unwillingness to meet Emma’s eyes spoke volumes to the fact that the woman knew this wasn’t what Emma had meant with her question. Before she could press further, the woman provided, “All I know is the plan for you and Hope, and that plan consists of getting you, the baby, and Wendy to a rendezvous point. Whatever might be worked out for Killian, I have no knowledge of.”

“Wendy?” Emma startled. “Wendy is getting out, too?”

“No one will be getting out if we don’t move,” Granny admonished, hustling her out the door. “Stick to the shadows until we get to the hedges.”

Emma nodded and followed Granny along the side of the house. Frantic shouts reverberated off the bricks and echoed through the night while silhouettes dashed back and forth in front of the gates at the end of the drive. Among them Emma could make out Killian’s distinct form from where he stood as a sentinel protecting the house while keeping watch over the mayhem in the street. Every fiber of Emma’s being wanted to call out to him, to run to him, and as if he could sense that longing, Killian turned to look over his shoulder just as they neared the edge of the hedges closest to the gate.

The glow of the inferno, the heat of which Emma could feel even from this distance, and the strobing of the emergency lights washed over his face, illuminating his features. Emma couldn’t help herself, and took one small step forward so he might catch a glimpse of her; a risk worth taking when their eyes met and she could read the words he dared not utter shining from those forget-me-not depths and in the small nod he gave.

_Go. Take our daughter and go._

Her eyes misted over when his developed a sheen of their own; the tight bob of his Adam’s apple expressing a final plea and declaration.

_I love you. Now, go._

A soft rustle behind them pulled Emma’s gaze from Killian’s and her body tensed. Fortunately, the sound turned out to be Wendy, joining them in the shadows with a small satchel slung across her body. When Emma returned her attention back to Killian, her heart skipped at the sight of him making his way towards them, clearly unable to let them leave without some sort of goodbye. However, his steps were halted by some unseen intrusion that grabbed his attention when he was only a few feet from them.

“Get them out of here, Granny,” he hissed under his breath before straightening himself to full height and addressing whatever had interrupted his course. “Commander Oz. It isn’t safe out here, sir. I must insist you return to your home.”

“We have to go,” Granny whispered into Emma’s ear, drawing her back more firmly within the shadows. “Stick to the hedges until we reach the treeline, and do your best to keep the baby quiet.”

Emma looked down at Hope, already asleep in her arms, then back up at Killian. She knew she had to go, to get their daughter out, but how could she leave him behind without knowing when or if she’d ever see him again?

“Sir, I said it isn’t safe,” Killian voiced again when his previous warning had gone unheeded.

“I’m here for my property,” Oz stated. “Stand aside, Guardian Jones.”

“It’s Commander Jones,” Killian corrected with a tone of spite, “and I’ll do no such thing.”

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Oz sneered.

Even though Emma couldn’t see Killian’s face, she could practically hear the smirk pulling at his lips when he responded, “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“You think I don’t know this is all a ploy to get the Handmaid out? That you haven’t orchestrated some sort of escape for her and your spawn and are using this little uprising as cover?”

“Emma,” Granny whispered desperately. “We have to go. Now.”

Oz made an attempt to grab the latch on the gate, but was stopped by Killian’s palm pressed against his chest. His other hand released the strap that secured his sidearm in its holster, the threat against the advancing Commander clear.

“Emma.”

Both women were now beseeching her to snap out of her dazed state, tugging at her to follow them through the hedges. It wasn’t until Hope made a small fussing noise at being jostled that Emma snapped out of herself.

“You have to think of the baby,” Wendy whispered. “Trust Killian. He knows what he’s doing. Please, Emma. We have to go.”

“I have my orders, Commander,” Killian told Oz. “I must insist that you return home. Where it is safe.” Emma watched as Killian’s jaw tightened, the muscle flickering not from agitation, but from a fretfulness she’d seen many times. “You have to go. Now.”

Emma knew those words for her, not the Commander, so with a tightness in her throat and an ache in her chest, Emma did as he asked and slipped further into the darkness with their child clasped firmly over her heart.

~/~

It felt as though they’d walked for hours. It was a miracle Hope had stayed asleep and quiet for so long, but Emma knew she’d wake soon from hunger and a need to be changed. Crouched down in a culvert, she and Wendy waited with an unknown Martha, one in a long string of Marthas who had handed them off like a baton in a relay as they’d made their way to the rendezvous point. Emma’s arms throbbed from carrying Hope for such a distance. She wasn’t used to holding her child for any length of time, but she’d gladly take the sore muscles if it meant she could now hold her whenever she wanted.

Headlights appeared suddenly. Two sets piercing their way through the fog that clung to the deserted road. The light washed over the women as the vehicles rolled to a stop, each then flashed their beams as some sort of signal and the Martha herded Emma and Wendy out towards the road.

The driver side door of the first vehicle, a nondescript sedan, swung open and a young man who couldn’t have been more than a teenager jumped out.

“Peter!” Wendy exclaimed, sprinting at the boy and throwing herself into his arms.

The second vehicle was a box truck. Two men, one elderly and one not much older than Emma, exited the cab and approached her. The older man removed his cap and gave her a small nod of greeting.

“Emma?” When she nodded in response, the man smiled and introduced himself. “I am Marco, and this is my son, August. We’ll be transporting you and your baby to the next rendezvous point.” He looked past her at the young lovers, still lost in an embrace, and his smile deepened at their heartwarming reunion. “The youngsters will be going their own way, so if you’d like to say your goodbyes, you’ll need to hurry.”

Emma turned to find Wendy already making her way over. The young girl wrapped her arms around Emma and the baby as best she could without disturbing the little bundle.

“Godspeed, Emma.”

“Godspeed, Wendy,” Emma replied.

Wendy bent over Hope, who was now starting to wake, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Godspeed, Hope. May the Lord bless you and keep you. May His face shine upon you, and be gracious to you, lifting His countenance upon you, and give you peace.”

Emma adjusted Hope in her arms so she could wipe away a tear that had fallen from her lashes and looked on as Peter led Wendy back to the car so they could make their escape. Once the tail lights faded from view, the younger of the two men, August, placed a hand on her shoulder and urged her that it was time to go.

“My father and I are furniture makers,” he told her as he raised the back door of the truck, revealing several pieces of furniture that were wrapped and draped with protective blankets. He led her to the very back where he pulled the covering off a large wardrobe and opened the doors. “Sorry it isn’t roomier, but it’ll help keep you both hidden until we get you to your rendezvous point.” Hope let out a pre-cry whimper, prompting August to add, “The truck is well insulated, so no one will hear her cry unless we’re stopped and inspected. If that happens, I’ll knock three times on the back wall of the cab to give you a heads up.”

August helped her and the baby get situated inside the wardrobe and started to close the doors.

“Wait,” Emma called out, bracing her hand against the door. “Do you… do you know anything about any other escapes happening tonight? Besides mine and Wendy’s?”

“I know that others are happening, but the details are kept compartmentalized,” August answered. “Why?”

“There’s someone I’m hoping makes it out tonight, as well. Killian Jones?” she offered in the form of questioning. “Does that name sound familiar?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know any names except yours.” His features pinched together as if he was deciding whether or not to divulge more. “But…” he began again, a pitying tone hanging off his words. “As far as I know, the resistance is working to get only women and children out tonight. Is Killian a child?”

“No,” she answered hollowly, dropping her hand away from the door so he could close it with one last apologetic look.

His muffled voice drifted through the thick wood of the wardrobe. “I can make a few calls,” he offered. “See if I can find out anything about an escape route for Killian Jones.”

With that, August closed up the back of the truck and joined his father in the cab; the sound of his passenger door shutting thudded through the compartment. Emma slumped back against the side wall of the wardrobe, allowing herself a brief moment to relax, which naturally meant Hope’s whimpers became full blown wails of discontent.

Though the space was limited, Emma had enough room to change Hope’s diaper and nurse her. The ride was anything but comfortable, each bump jarring them with Emma absorbing as much of the impact as she could in the hopes her daughter would fall back asleep, with no such luck. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but felt it had to be past midnight. How would a delivery truck justify being out this late if they were stopped by patrols? As the truck began to slow down, Emma feared she might get an answer to that question.

Bouncing Hope lightly in her arms in an effort to keep her happy and quiet, Emma tried not to hold her breath while she strained to hear any sounds that might tell her why they’d stopped. August hadn’t knocked, and there was no shrill siren or shouts coming from the outside. Perhaps they had made it to the rendezvous point already?

When the sound of a roll up door began screeching from the scraping of metal along the track, Emma clutched Hope tightly against her chest. Hope wriggled and fussed, sensing her mother’s distress from the pounding beats of her heart that were accelerating with each passing second. Emma tried shushing her little one, but it seemed the more she tried to calm them both the more worked up they both became. When the wardrobe doors finally opened, Emma was nearly in tears with panic.

“Everything is alright,” Marco assured her, reaching out to assist her out of the wardrobe. “But we have hit a small snag.”

Emma handed him the diaper bag, readjusted Hope to one arm, then took his proffered one to extricate herself from the constrictive space. “What sort of snag?”

August was waiting at the opening, ready to help her out of the truck with Hope still tucked against her, the baby’s cries muffled by the nursing blanket Emma had draped over her shoulder.

“We got word that our inside man at the checkpoint was found out,” August informed her. Emma gasped and her stomach dropped, knowing full well the fate that awaited him should he be found guilty of conspiring with the Resistance. “We can’t drive you all the way up to the rendezvous site, but you can still get there on foot if you cut through these woods.”

He fished out an old model cell phone from his pocket and began tapping the screen as Marco closed and secured the back of the truck.

“Here,” August said, handing over the phone to her. “I’ve put in the coordinates. All you have to do is follow the arrow.”

“How far is it?”

“About two miles, but you’ll have to make your way in the dark. Can’t risk a flashlight this close to the checkpoint.”

Emma chewed her lip and stared into the woods. All she could see was darkness, but there was enough of a moon to help light her way naturally.

“What am I looking for? What’s the rendezvous site?”

“It’s an airstrip. A plane will be waiting for you, but only if you can get there before 2 a.m., which is in,” August glanced down at his wrist to check the time, “just under an hour.”

Two miles, through the woods, in the dark, with a wide awake baby in her arms, and Guardians from a nearby checkpoint probably patrolling the area with only an hour to get to a plane before it takes off leaving her stranded? _What could possibly go wrong?_ Emma thought wryly.

“I’m sorry we can’t get you any closer, Emma,” Marco said, coming to stand next to his son.

“Don’t be,” she told them. “What you’ve done… what you’ve risked just to get me this far. A complete stranger. I can never thank you both enough.”

“No thanks necessary.” August waved her off. “Just… take care of yourself. You and your baby. Okay?”

Stepping forward, Emma propped herself up onto her toes to place a quick kiss on each of the men’s cheeks. A blush flared across their faces, both of them dipping their heads bashfully when she stepped away.

“I will,” she promised with a fresh tone of determination. “We’re gonna get to that plane and get the hell out of here.”

“Then you better get going,” Marco urged. “Godspeed.”

The older man walked back towards the cab while August hovered briefly. “Before you go,” he said, stepping in a bit closer. “I made some calls, like I said I would.”

“Did you find out anything about Killian’s escape?”

“I’m sorry, Emma,” August murmured. “From what I could gather, the Resistance has no plans or arrangements for an escape for Killian Jones. He’s… he’s an Eye. There’s no way anyone would take the risk.”

Emma’s heart sank. No plans for an escape? This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. They were supposed to get out together. She could almost taste blood from how hard she was biting down on her lip in order to stop the sob working its way up her throat as tears threatened to spill over her lashes. How could he arrange an escape for them knowing there was no way out for him?

Emma sniffled. _Because he’s Killian_ , she thought. _He’d do anything, even sacrifice his own chance for freedom, if it meant getting me and Hope out._

But he hadn’t just arranged to get her and their daughter out. He’d gotten Wendy out too, and who knows how many others he might have had a hand in rescuing tonight? Emma wouldn’t let those efforts be in vain. She was going to get to that airstrip and then track down David Nolan. He was her only hope in getting Killian out, and she wasn’t going to stop fighting until that happened. He just had to survive long enough for them to put a plan together.

Emma smirked, hearing his cocksure voice in her head as he espoused, _I’m good at surviving._

“I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you,” August lamented, snapping her back to the here and now.

“It’s okay. Thank you for checking. Hopefully, I’ll be able to do something from the outside.” She looked down at the phone still clutched in her hand with the navigation app running and noted the time. “I better go.” Her eyes shifted over and she pulled back the blanket to peek in on the now calm infant. Hope sleepily stared up at her with her father’s blue eyes, and Emma smiled down at her. “ _We_ should go, huh little one?”

“Godspeed, Emma,” August said in farewell, heading off to climb into the cab.

Emma waved at them as they drove past then headed for the treeline with little more than an arrow and few streams of moonlight to guide her. The terrain was a challenge, but after walking for about thirty minutes she counted herself lucky that she hadn’t spotted any patrols… or rather, that none had spotted her. Seemed odd that there wouldn’t be more guards on watch so close to a landing strip, or any evidence of said landing strip for that matter.

Shouldn’t she be able to see lights by now?

When the trees thinned just a few yards shy of the red dot she’d been making her way towards with the assistance of the navigation app, Emma understood the reason behind the lack of lights. This wasn’t a true landing strip. It was a length of cleared trees where a small plane could land. A small plane like the one sitting idle at the far end of the make-shift runway.

_We made it._ Emma’s elation warred with the fact that they hadn’t _all_ made it, and for a brief moment she found herself unwilling to step out from the trees. She couldn’t leave Killian behind, she just couldn’t.

But she had to.

Emma forced herself to take a step, then another, and another until she was finally spotted by the pilot who jogged over to meet her.

“Emma? Emma Swan?”

“Yes. That’s me.”

“I’d almost given up on you. Get in. We need to take off before someone reports us. No way my landing went unnoticed.”

Before she could comment that it had gone unnoticed by her, the man had her up the stairs and into the back of the plane.

“I’d say strap in, but there’s no belts back here. Just try and secure yourself as best you can, and make sure to grab some blankets. It’s gonna get cold.”

He slammed the door closed, throwing her into near total darkness before she could even get her bearings. With what little light the window in the door offered, Emma managed to find the blankets and settle herself against the side opposite the door with Hope gurgling in her lap. The engines roared to life and the plane began to roll forward. Emma swallowed past the sorrow gathering in her throat and smiled down at her daughter.

“We made it, my little one. We did it.” She swiped away an errant tear and looked up into the light streaming through the small window, the silhouettes of trees whizzing past with greater and greater speed. “I wish your daddy were here.”

“Hello, love,” croaked a familiar lilt from further back in the hold. A flashlight clicked on, exposing Killian’s slumped form, his legs stretched out before him with one heavily bandaged. “Did you miss me?”

“Killian,” Emma exhaled, gathering their daughter into her sore arms and stumbling her way to him. “What happened to you? How are you here?”

She didn’t let him answer, peppering his face with kisses until their lips met and his hand anchored itself into her hair. Neither of them noticed when the plane actually left the ground. It wasn’t until Hope voiced her discontent at being squished between them that they pulled apart. Emma handed the fussing child over and Killian had her soothed in no time at all, their little one falling fast asleep in her father’s arms.

“I thought I might not ever see you again,” Emma whispered softly from where she was snuggled up next to him. “No one knew anything about your escape. I thought…”

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian said. “I wanted to tell you the plan so many times, but I-”

“Why didn’t you?”

Killian grimaced. Like he knew his answer probably wouldn’t satisfy her. “Plausible deniability?”

“Are you seriously going with that?”

With Hope secured in the crook of one arm, he reached up and scratched behind his ear before drawing her further into his side with the other. “Aye. I am. There were too many moving parts to this, so much potential for things to go wrong, and if they _did_ go wrong, I didn’t want you to be culpable for any of it. Plus...” There was that grimace again. “I knew there were certain aspects of the plan you might not agree with.”

“Such as?”

“My getting shot.”

“What?” Emma snatched the flashlight he’d set down off the floor and cast the beam over his bandaged thigh, a crimson stain faintly seeping through the layers of gauze. “Who shot you? Are you going to be okay? We need to get you to a doctor as soon as we land.”

“Take a breath, love. David has it all arranged.”

“David?”

“Aye,” he replied with his cheeky grin and raised brow. “David Nolan. Our pilot.” Before she could utter anymore exclamations or questions, Killian pressed on, “My getting shot was always part of the plan, so David has a team standing by for when we land.”

“In what world does you getting shot sound like a good plan?”

“I didn’t say it was a good plan.” Killian shrugged. “But it was the best one Felix and I could come up with in order for both Oz and Pendragon to take the fall for your escape.”

After another incredulous _what_ left her mouth, Killian went on to explain what he had been cooking up since catching Felix and Wendy conversing a few weeks prior, when he’d discovered Felix knew about Wendy’s affair with Peter. Knowing the authorities would need someone to blame for the dozen or so escapes the Resistance had planned, Killian and Felix (who still had access to the Oz household) had planted evidence linking them to known rebels, setting them up as patsies. He knew the Pendragon home would be searched once Emma and the baby’s disappearance was reported, but they had to come up with a scenario that would cause Oz’s house to be searched. Hence Killian getting shot.

“Felix told Oz that he suspected the uprising was all a ruse to get you and the baby out, and made sure Oz came to the Pendragon house to confront me. He pushed past me through the gates and I drew my gun. I pretended to let my guard down so he would go for the gun, and we struggled until I was sure the shot would hit me in the leg and pulled the trigger.”

“So, you shot yourself,” Emma stated with furrowed brows.

“According to all eye witnesses present, Oz shot me. A newly promoted Commander. Which, turns out, warrants a much more thorough investigation than if he’d simply shot a Guardian.”

“You’ve been playing Oz this whole time? Making him think promoting you was his idea?”

“I couldn’t have done it without Felix,” he admitted, casting the spotlight off of himself in typical Killian fashion. “He agreed to help once I assured him I could get Peter and Wendy out, too. He was instrumental in feeding Oz just the right information.”

“I still don’t see why you had to get shot,” Emma protested. “What if he’d killed you? Oz is vile, but setting him up like that isn’t worth your life, Killian.”

“It was also my only way out,” Killian countered. “That doctor who knew your name was one of Nolan’s contacts. He was the only person willing to risk aiding an Eye. With the uprising the Resistance already had planned, I knew the roads would be closed off for emergency vehicles only past a certain point and therefore had no way of getting to the hospital except by ambulance. From there, Whale was able to smuggle me out after patching me up.”

“Won’t the authorities suspect something once it's clear you’ve disappeared, too?”

“But I haven’t disappeared,” Killian replied. “As far as Camelot is concerned, Killian Jones is dead.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” the pilot, David, called out from the cockpit. “But we’ve just entered Canadian air space. Killian and Emma… welcome to Canada.”

“We did it.” Emma looked up into Killian’s face, her smile almost as wide as his.

“Aye, love. We did.”

“So, what now?”

Killian placed a kiss on her forehead and pulled her in tight. “Our future, Emma. Blessed be our future.”

“May the Lord open.”

_...One Year Later_

“I told you she’d try and eat the sand,” Emma laughed, watching Killian scoop Hope up off the beach and frantically brush away the particles she’d decided looked appetizing. “She’s fine, Killian. All babies do it.”

“Perhaps she’s trying to tell us it’s snack time,” Killian chuckled. “Shall we head back?”

Emma didn’t really want to head back, but knew he was right. It was getting late and Hope would need a snack before her nap. She took Killian’s proffered hand and stood from the patch of sand she’d been enjoying watching the waves from. The sun pleasantly warmed them as they walked with Hope toddling between them, holding fast to her parents’ hands.

She was going to miss the warmth. And the beach. But in a matter of days they would be returning to Canada so Killian could give his testimony against the Commanders who’d been arrested for war crimes since Camelot’s fall.

They’d spent a number of months in Canada when they’d first escaped. The first few days in the hospital where Killian was treated for his gunshot wound, then at a detention center while they were processed, gave their statements, and were cleared of any charges once David Nolan had been able to make several deals on Killian’s behalf, in exchange for his full cooperation in helping to bring Camelot down.

Deals they were both more than happy to make.

Killian’s knowledge, and information he’d been able to smuggle out of Camelot on a thumb drive, had been vital, turning the tide of the war and aiding the Resistance in taking the regime down from the inside. Commanders and those who’d held positions of power had been arrested, and many were now languishing in military prisons awaiting trial.

In the days following their escape, Emma and Killian had been able to make contact with Wendy and Peter, assuring that they’d made it across the border without any trouble. Granny had also made it out during the uprising, and there had been a tearful reunion between her and the granddaughter she’d been able to send to Canada before Camelot’s rise that Emma and Killian had been privileged to witness. The four of them spent a few weeks at the same processing center together and Granny filled them in on what she knew of those left behind.

Felix, having found his place with the Resistance, thanks to the work he had done in setting up Oz, had chosen to stay and continue the fight. Unfortunately, he hadn’t lived to see Camelot fall, giving his life to the cause during an escape mission so several children could reach freedom. Sadly, Marco had also lost his life before the Resistance had overthrown the corrupt government. Shot on the side of the road with several other suspected _traitors_ while his son and the loved ones of the other victims looked on helplessly from their hiding places close by. Though there had not been any news about August or his whereabouts since then, Emma refused to give up hope that he’d turn up one day.

It was Whale who’d provided them with the details of the Oz’s and Pendragon’s fates. The Resistance physician had remained behind as well, working within the system until the very end. Killian had suspected that the reason they’d been unable to get any confirmation on the Commanders’ fates after their escape was because Camelot would have wanted to keep it quiet. Whale confirmed the cover-up, but informed them that Killian and Felix’s plan had worked. The Commanders _and_ their wives had been found guilty of treason and hung, their bodies later suspended from the Wall.

When Killian had met the terms of his deal (except for the provision of his testimony, which he could not offer until after Camelot fell), the US government arranged their transport to Hawaii, just as David had promised Killian all those months before in a hotel bar.

Treason and coconuts had never tasted more delicious.

“I got a call from David, confirming our itinerary,” Killian said as they shuffled leisurely through the sand. “He wanted to make sure we plan to return here after I’m finished testifying.”

Emma stopped and faced him. “We are, aren’t we?”

Killian picked Hope up and settled her on his hip, her blonde curls shining in the sun’s rays. “I’d certainly like to,” he replied softly.

“Me, too,” Emma agreed with a sigh. “These past few months have been like a dream. A dream we only ever fantasized about when we dared to imagine a future together… as a real family.”

“We’ve always been a real family,” Killian insisted. “You, me, and Hope. A wee family of three.”

Emma stepped in close and smiled up at him and Hope. “Four, actually.”

Killian blinked several times until a stunned smile beamed from his face. “Four?”

Emma gave a nod and small shrug as she quipped, “Blessed be the fruit.”

THE END


End file.
